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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/shakespearestoryOObank 


The    Shakespeare 

Story- Book 


{Pa^e  242, 

*'  f^yes,  look  your  last  !       Arms,  take  your  last  embrace  !" 


A.  S.  Barmes  8{  Co.,  New  York. 


J 


PRIN-TED    IN    GREAT    BRITAIN 
WELLS    GARUNiiR,    DARTON    AND    CO.,    LTD. 


/IP 


t) 


LITERARY  critics  have  many  times  during  the  part 
^  two  thousand  years  waged  battle  with  one  another 
over  the  question  whether  drama  owes  its  excellence  chiefly 
to  plot  or  chiefly  to  character.  Is  it  the  business  of  the 
dramatist,  critics  ask  successively  through  the  ages,  to 
inspire  the  playgoer  with  a  deeper  interest  in  the  external 
circumstances  which  mould  the  fortunes  of  his  heroes  and 
heroines  than  in  their  individual  temperaments  and  the 
inner  workings  of  their  minds  and  hearts  ?  But  critics 
commonly  ''  count  it  a  bondage  to  fix  a  belief,"  and  after 
clothing  their  question  in  the  complexity  of  disquisition, 
they  rarely  '*  stay  "  for  a  clear  and  decisive  answer.  The 
glimmering  light  of  dialectics  usually  involves  in  shadow  one 
or  other  commanding  phase  of  the  problem.     To  the  plain 

vii 


1GS805 


OO!/^ 


Introduction 

observer  it  would  seem  that  both  plot  and  character  are 
essential  constituents  of  perfect  drama  ;  that  the  strength 
of  the  one  depends  on  the  strength  of  the  other  ;  and  that, 
except  to  the  questioning  critic,  it  is  a  matter  of  small 
practical  consequence  to  which  the  greater  importance  be 
attached  by  the  refinements  of  theory.  In  the  best  plays 
of  Shakespeare  the  interest  evoked  respectively  by  plot  and 
character  is  so  evenly  balanced  that  he  must  be  excep- 
tionally short-sighted  who  would  set  the  value  of  the  one 
above  the  value  of  the  other.  The  external  circumstances 
that  mould  the  fortunes  of  Hamlet,  Macbeth,  Lear,  Othello, 
rivet  the  playgoer's  and  the  reader's  attention  in  no  less 
a  degree  than  the  individual  temperaments  of  these  great 
dramatic  personages  or  the  inner  workings  of  their  minds 
and  hearts.  It  is  the  perfectly  harmonious  co-operation 
of  plot  and  character  that  is  responsible  for  Shakespeare's 
noblest  triumphs. 

Close  and  constant  study  of  the  great  plays  of  Shake- 
speare must  ultimately  rouse  in  the  student  a  m.ore 
absorbing  interest  in  their  characters  than  in  their  plots. 
That  is  the  final  effect  of  supreme  dramatic  genius.  But 
the  full  appreciation  of  Shakespeare's  sure  and  illimitable 
insight  into  character  can  never  be  reached  until  we  have 
made  ourselves  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  plot  in  which 
the  character  has  its  substantive  being.  It  follows,  there- 
fore, that  if  one  would  realise  completely  in  due  time  the 
^A^hole  eminence  of  Shakespeare's  dramatic  achievement, 
one  should  be  encouraged  at  the  outset  to  study  closely  the 
stories  of  the  plays  rather  than  the  characters  apart  from 
their  settings.  When  the  youthful  mind  has  grasped  the 
manner  and  matter  of  the  plots,  it  will  m  adult  age  be  in 

viii 


Introduction 

a  far  better  position  than  it  could  be  otherwise  to  compre- 
hend all  the  excellences,  all  the  subtleties  of  the  characters. 
Only  when  plot  and  character  have  received  equally  full 
attention  will  Shakespeare  stand  revealed  to  the  mature 
student  in  his  manifold  glory. 

It  was  this  point  of  view  that  led  Charles  Lamb  and  his 
sister  Mary  to  prepare  their  "  Tales  from  Shakespeare, 
designed  for  the  use  of  young  persons."  Their  volume 
was  first  published  in  1807.  The  two  writers  narrated,  in 
simple  language  for  the  most  part,  the  plots  of  twenty  of 
Shakespeare's  plays,  fourteen  comedies  and  six  tragedies. 
None  of  the  historical  dramas,  whether  English  or  Roman, 
were  included,  nor  was  a  place  found  for  the  comedies  of 
Love's  Labour's  Lost,  and  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor, 
nor  for  the  tragedies  of  Troilus  and  Cressida,  and  Titns 
Andronicus.  The  greater  part  of  the  volume  was  the 
work  of  Mary  Lamb.  Although  Charles  Lamb's  name 
alone  appeared  upon  the  title-page,  he  was  responsible 
for  no  more  than  six  of  the  tales  —  those  of  the  six 
tragedies. 

Mary  Lamb  had  little  of  her  brother's  literary  power. 
She  was  in  sympathy  with  his  literary  tastes,  she  had 
something  of  his  shrewdness  of  judgment,  but  she  had 
none  of  his  wealth  of  fancy,  his  pliancy  of  style,  his 
humorous  insight,  or  his  learning.  Although  Mary 
Lamb's  renderings  of  the  plots  of  the  comedies  have  the 
charm  of  matter-of-fact  simplicity,  they  cannot  be  held  on 
a  close  scrutiny  to  satisfy  all  the  needs  of  the  situation. 
They  often  trace  the  course  of  the  stories  too  faintly  and 
imperfectly  to  recall  Shakespeare's  own  image.  Frequently 
in   Mary  Lamb's  work  pertinent   intricacies    of  plot  are 


Introduction 

blurred  by  a  silent  omission  of  details,  knowledge  of  which 
is  essential  to  a  complete  understanding  of  the  Shake- 
spearean theme.  For  example,  the  story  of  the  caskets 
is  excluded  altogether  from  Mary  Lamb's  version  of  the 
plot  of  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Of  Bottom  and  his  allies 
in  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream  she  has  nothing  to  tell ; 
Titania  falls  in  love  with  a  nameless  sleeping  "  clown  who 
had  lost  his  way  in  the  wood."  And  when  (in  Mary 
Lamb's  version)  the  ass's  head  which  Puck  sets  on  the 
clown's  neck  is  removed,  he  is  ''  left  to  finish  his  nap  with 
his  own  fool's  head  upon  his  shoulders.'  Nothing  more 
is  vouchsafed  about  the  '*  rude  mechanicals  "  of  Theseus's 
Athens.  Mary  Lamb's  rendering  of  ^s  You  Like  It  admits 
no  mention  of  the  melancholy  Jaques,  of  the  shrewdly 
witty  Touchstone,  or  of  the  rustic  Audrey.  The  ludi- 
crously self-centred  Malvolio  and  his  comically  tragic  self- 
deception  disappear  from  her  version  of  Twelfth  Night, 
Elsewhere  in  the  comedies,  and  even  in  Charles  Lamb's 
own  work  on  the  tragedies,  Shakespeare's  text  is  at  times 
misinterpreted.  Consequently,  however  fascinating  in 
themselves  the  narratives  of  the  Lambs  may  prove  to 
young  readers.  Lamb's  Tales  offer  them  a  very  frag- 
mentary knowledge  of  the  scope  of  Shakespeare's  plots. 
An  endeavour  to  supply  young  readers  with  a  fuller  and 
more  accurate  account  of  them  is  therefore  well  justified 
and  this  endeavour  is  made  in  the  present  volume. 

In  studying  the  stories  on  which  Shakespeare  based  his 
plays,  it  is  always  worth  bearing  in  mind  that  he  cannot 
be  credited  with  the  whole  invention  of  any  of  them,  ex- 
cept in  the  case  of  one  play— the  comedy  of  Love's  Lahoiir's 
Lost,     In  accordance  with  the  custom  of  all  dramatists  of 


Introduction 

the  day,  it  was  his  practice  to  seek  the  main  Hnes  of  his 
plots  in  prose-fictions,  or  in  historical  chronicles  by  other 
hands. 

Romantic  fiction  was  born  for  modern  Europe  on  Italian 
soil.  Boccaccio  of  fourteenth-century  Florence  and  Boc- 
caccio's long  line  of  disciples — Bandello  of  Milan,  Giraldi 
Cinthio  of  Ferrara,  and  many  writers  of  less  familiar  name 
of  the  sixteenth  century  —  had  for  generations  before 
Shakespeare's  epoch  furnished  not  only  Italy,  but  all  the 
Western  countries  of  Europe  with  their  chief  recreative 
literature  in  prose.  The  Italian  novels  were  through  the 
second  half  of  the  sixteenth  century  constantly  translated 
into  English  and  French,  and  it  was  to  those  English  or 
French  translations  of  the  Italian  romances  that  Shake- 
speare owed  the  main  suggestion  for  all  the  plots  of  his 
comedies  (save  Love's  Labour's  Lost)  and  for  many  of  those 
of  his  tragedies.  Belleforest's  "  Histoires  Tragiques,"  a 
collection  of  French  versions  of  the  Italian  stories  of  Ban- 
dello, was  very  often  in  his  hands.  Novels  by  Bandello 
are  the  ultimate  sources  of  the  stories  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  of  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  and  of  Twelfth  Night. 
AlVs  Well  that  Ends  Well  and  Cymbeline  largely  rest  on 
foundations  laid  by  Boccaccio.  The  tales  of  Othello  and 
Measure  for  Measure  are  traceable  to  Giraldi  Cinthioo 

But  although  Shakespeare's  borrowings  from  the  frank 
and  vivacious  fiction  of  sunny  Italy  were  large  and 
open-handed,  his  debt  was  greater  in  appearance  than  it 
was  in  reality.  He  freely  altered  and  adapted  the  borrowed 
stories  in  accordance  with  his  sense  of  dramatic  and 
artistic  fitness,  so  that  the  finished  plays  present  them  in 
shapes  which  bear  little  relation  to  their  original  forms. 

xi 


Introduction 

At  times  he  intertwined  one  borrowed  story  with  a  second, 
and  his  marvellous  ingenuity  completely  changed  the 
aspect  of  both  ;  each  assumed  new  and  unexpected  point 
and  consistency.  With  such  effect  did  he  combine  in  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  the  story  of  the  caskets  with  the  story 
of  Shylock's  bond  with  Antonio.  His  capacity  of  assimi- 
lating all  that  he  read  was  as  omnipotent  as  his  power  of 
assimilating  all  that  passed  in  life  within  range  of  his  eye 
or  ear.  The  stories  that  he  drew  from  books  on  which 
to  found  his  plays  can  only  be  likened  to  base  ore,  which 
the  magic  of  his  genius  had  the  faculty  of  transmuting 
into  gold. 

But  for  young  readers,  who  approach  Shakespeare's 
work  for  the  first  time  through  the  present  narration  of 
the  stories  of  his  plays,  it  is  not  necessary  to  learn  whence 
Shakespeare  derived  their  bare  lineaments,  or  how  he 
breathed  into  them  the  glowing  spirit  of  life.  It  is  essen- 
tial that  young  readers  should  find  delight  and  recreation 
in  the  tales  as  he  finally  presented  them  in  his  plays. 
Such  delight  and  recreation  I  believe  the  contents  of  this 
volume  is  fitted  to  afford  them. 

It  only  remains  to  express  the  wish  that  the  knowledge 
here  conveyed  to  young  readers  of  Shakespeare's  plots 
may  lead  them  to  become  in  future  years  loving  students 
of  the  text  of  his  plays.  The  words  employed  by  Charles 
Lamb  in  a  like  connection  when  he  first  sent  into  the 
world  his  and  his  sister's  ''Tales  from  Shakespeare"  may 
fitly  be  echoed  here.  Young  men  and  women  cannot 
learn  too  early,  in  life  how  the  study  of  Shakespeare's 
work  may,  in  a  far  higher  degree  than  the  study  of  other 
literature,  enrich  their  fancy,  strengthen  them  in  virtue, 

xii 


Introduction 

withdraw  them  from  selfish  and  mercenary  thoughts. 
Life  will  bring  them  no  better  instructor  in  the  doing  of 
sweet  and  honourable  action,  no  better  teacher  of  courtesy, 
benignity,  generosity,  humanity ;  for  of  both  stories  and 
characters  proffering  the  counsel  to  seek  what  is  good 
and  true  and  ^o  shun  what  is  bad  and  false  Shakespeare's 
pages  are  full 

SIDNEY  LEE. 


Xlll 


"Some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them." 


INTRODUCTION vii 

THE  TEMPEST— 

The  Magician's  Isle.        .        .        „        .        .  .        i 

The  Shipwrecked  Wanderers       .        .  .6 

The  King's  Son .        .        .      lo 

Mysterious  Music 14 

"Though  the  Seas  threaten,  they  are  merciful''       19 

TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA— 

"Now  let  us  take  our  Leave"    ,        .        >       .        .      27 
"Who  is  Silvia?"       .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .34 

False  to  his  Friend 39 

"AiAS   POOR  Lady^  desolate  and  left!''      ...      41 
What  befell  in  the  Forest 45 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING— 

"Dear  Lady  Disdain" >       54 

A  Plain-dealing  Villain         ....  .59 

"Cupid's  Crafty  Arrow"        «        ......      61 

XV 


Contents 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING  {_contmued)—  page 

The  Night  Before  the  Wedding 68 

"Done  to  Death  by  Slanderous  Tongues"      .       .  72 

\       A  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM— 

Helena  and  Hermia 82 

Playing  the  Lion 86 

The  Magic  Flower 88 

Puck  in  Mischief 95 

THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE— 

A  Merry  Bond 104 

The  Three  Caskets no 

"Revenge  1" 115 

A  Pound  of  Flesh 119 

The  Two  Rings 128 

AS  YOU  LIKE  IT— 
t 

Oliver  and  Orlando        , 133 

Rosalind  and  Celia 136 

In  the  Forest  of  Arden 142 

The  Shepherd  Youth 148 

THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW— 

A  Rough  Courtship  .       .        .       .       .       .       .       .158 

The  Marriage,  and  After 162 

TWELFTH  NIGHT— 

Orsino's  Envoy 176 

A  Dream  of  Greatness 186 

The  Challenge 193 

Yellow  Stockings 203 

StBASTIAN   and   ViOLA ,           .  206 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET— 

The  Masked  Ball      , 210 

Mercutio 216 

x\i 


Contents 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET  {contimied)—  page 

"Banished!" •       .  225 

Comfort  and  Counsel      ...:...  230 

The  Palace  of  Dim  Night 236 

MACBETH— 

The  Weird  Sisters 245 

At  the  Castle  of  Macbeth    ......  252 

The  Guest  at  the  Banquet 260 

The  Witches'  Cavern 267 

Birnam  Wood 274 

^^^AMLET— 

A  Vision  at  Midnight 283 

Ophelia 293 

"Sweet  Bells  jangled,  out  of  Tune  and  Harsh"  296 

"The  Mouse-trap" 305 

"Rosemary  for  Remembrance" 321 

The  King's  Wager 327 

KING  LEAR— 

The  Dowerless  Daughter 335 

Goneril  and  Regan 341 

Night  and  Storm 350 

OTHELLO— 

"Honest  Iago" 360 

Well  Met  at  Cyprus       .        .                ....  367 

The  Handkerchief   .               374 

No  Way  but  This 381 

CYMBELINE— 
y 

A  Princess  of  Britain 391 

How  Iachimo  won  his  Wagi  j<                ....  399 

The  Cave  of  Belarius     ...                ...  403 

Fidele 411 

xvii 


Contents 


C- 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE— 

At  the  Palace  of  Leontes     . 
The  Oracle  Speaks  . 
A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream 
The  Oracle  P^ulfilled    . 

THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS— 
A  Walk  through  Ephesus 
Confusion  worse  Confounded 


?AGE 
422 
428 

437 

445 

452 


Frontispiece—"  Eyes, 

embrace  !" 
Title-Page 


look  you 


r  last  !     Arms,  take  your  last 


Heading  to  Introduction        .... 
"  Son^e  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them  "    . 

Heading  to  Contents 

,,  Illustrations        .... 

Ariel  and  Caliban 

"  What  ?  .  .  .     Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor  !''  . 

"  I  love  and  honour  you  beyond  all  limit "    . 

"  Now  let  us  take  our  leave" 

*'  Go,  get  you  gone,  and  let  the  papers  lie  "  , 

"  Go,  base  intruder  !     Overweening  slave  T- 

"  Treacherous  man !     Thou  hast  beguiled  my  hopes 

Cupid's  trap 

"  Yet  tell  her  of  it  ;  hear  what  she  will  say  "  . 
"A  thousand  times  good-night"    . 
"  There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again  " 

xix 


PACK 

vii 
xiv 

XV 

xix 

I 
7 

12 
27 
32 
38 

49 
54 
66 

71 
73 


List    of   Illustrations 


I  was  " 


Puck  in  mischief    ..... 
"  What  thou  seest  when  thou  dost  wake  " 
"  Lysander  !  .  .  .     Alack,  where  are  you  ?" 
"  O,  how  I  love  thee  \     How  I  doat  on  thee 
"  Methought  I  was — no  man  could  tell  what 

On  the  Rialto 

"  For  these  courtesies  I'll  lend  you  thus  much  money  " 

"  Tarry  a  little  :  there  is  something  else 

"  And  for  your  love  I'll  take  this  ring  from  y 

In  the  Forest  of  Arden  .... 

"  We'll  have  a  martial  outside  '^ 

"It  is  ten  o'clock"  .... 

"  Hang  there,  my  verse  "... 

Audrey,  ihe  goatherd     .... 

"  And  your  experience  makes  you  sad  ?" 

Katharine  and  Petruchio 

"  Fear  not,  they  shall  not  touch  thee,  Kate  " 

"What's  this?     A  sleeve  ?"    . 

"  Come,  Kate  !  .  .  .     Good-night  !"      . 

The  Duel 

"  Look  you,  sir.     Is  it  not  well  done  ?"  . 

"  Farewell,  dear  heart,  since  I  must  needs  be  gone '' 

"  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  " 

"I  am  no  fighter"  .... 

In  Friar  Laurence's  cell 

"  Romeo,  arise  ;  thou  wilt  be  taken  !"    . 

"  O,  I  am  slain  !" 

The  Weird  Sisters  .... 

"  Infirm  of  purpose  I     Give  me  the  daggers 
"What  is  this  that  rises  like  the  issue  of  a  king  ?" 
"  Lay  on,  Macduff  !".... 
"  The  wood  began  to  move  ' . 
She  floated  down  the  stream . 

XX 


List    of   Illustrations 


"  Sleeping  within  my  orchard  "... 
"How  now  !     A  rat  ?     Dead,  for  a  ducat,  dead  ! 
"  Do  you  not  come  your  tardy  son  to  chide  ?" 
''  Contending  with  the  fretful  elements  ' 

"There  she  stands  " 

"  You  heavens,  give  me  that  patience  " 
"  Blow,  winds  !     Rage  !     Blow  !"  . 
She  would  come  to  listen  to  Othello 

"  Ay,  smile  upon  her  " 

'An  excellent  song  !" 

"Villain,  b  sure  you  prove  my  love  untrue  !' 

"  Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  import 

"  I  told  him  what  I  thought  "... 

The  lid  was  lifted,  and  a  man  stepped  forth  . 

"  Best  draw  my  sword  "  .... 

"  Good  masters,  harm  me  not !"     . 

"  Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done  " 

"  Good  luck  !     What  have  we  here  ?"    . 

"  She  commends  it  to  your  blessing  "    . 

"  O,  thus  she  stood  when  first  I  wooed  her  !" 

By  law  condemned  to  die      .... 

"  How  comes  it  that  you  are  thus  estranged  ?" 

"  I  see  my  son  Antipholus  "   . 

"  I  see  by  you  I  am  a  sweet-faced  youth  "     . 


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Initials,  tailpieces,  etc.,  etc. 


KSA 


s^^ 


The  Magician's  Isle 


HERE  was  once  a  lonely  island  far  awa^ 
in  the  midst  of  a  wide  sea.  Only  four 
beings  lived  on  this  island  :  an  elderly 
man  called  Prospero,  noble,  grave  and 
learned ;  his  daughter  Miranda ;  and 
two  attendants.  One  of  these  atten- 
dants was  a  l^eautiful  and  dainty  spirit  called  Ariel,  the 
other  a  sullen  monster  called  Caliban.  For  Prospero  had 
more  than  worldly  learning  ;  he  knew  the  art  of  magic, 
and  by  his  mighty  spells  he  could  control  not  only  the 
spirits  of  light  and  darkness,  but  also  the  forces  of  Nature. 
No  travellers  ever  came  to  the  island,  and  since  the 
day  when  Miranda  had  been  brought  thither,  a  little  baby 
girl,  she  had  never  seen  the  face  of  any  man  except  her 
father.     Peacefully  the  years  slipped  by,   and  Miranda 


The    Tempest 


had  grown  into  a  beautiful  young  maiden,  when  one  day 
a  terrible  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  burst  over  the 
island.  In  the  midst  of  the  tempest  a  noble  vessel 
seemed  to  be  sinking,  and  Miranda  ran  to  entreat  her 
father  that,  if  by  his  magic  arts  he  had  put  the  waves 
into  such  an  uproar,  he  would  now  allay  them. 

"  Be  comforted,  dear  child  ;  there  is  no  harm  done," 
said  her  father.  "  What  I  have  done  is  only  in  care  for 
you,  and  I  have  so  safely  ordered  this  wreck  that  not  a 
hair  of  anyone  on  board  shall  suffer  hurt.  Until  now  we 
have  lived  peacefully  in  this  little  spot,  and  you  know 
nothing  of  what  you  are,  nor  that  I  am  anything  more 
than  Prospero,  the  master  of  a  poor  enough  cell,  and 
your  father." 

"  It  never  entered  into  my  thoughts  to  inquire  further," 
said  Miranda. 

"  The  time  has  come  when  you  must  know  everj^thing," 
said  Prospero  ;  and  laying  aside  his  magic  mantle,  he 
bade  his  daughter  sit  down  beside  him,  and  then  he  told 
her  the  story  of  their  life. 

''  Can  you  remember  a  time  before  we  came  to  this 
island  ?"  he  began.  "  I  do  not  think  you  can,  for  you 
were  then  only  a  few  years  old." 

"  Certainly  I  can,"  replied  Miranda.  "  It  is  far  off,  and 
more  like  a  dream  than  a  remembrance.  Had  I  not  four 
or  five  women  once  that  waited  on  me  ?" 

"  You  had,  Miranda,  and  more.  Twelve  years  ago 
your  father  was  the  Duke  of  Milan,  and  a  Prince  of 
power." 

"  Oh,  heaven  !  what  foul  play  had  we  that  we  came 
from  thence  ?     Or  was  it  a  blessing  that  we  did  ?" 

2 


The    Magician's    Isle 

"  Both,  both,  my  girl.  By  foul  play,  as  you  say,  were 
we  driven  from  Milan,  but  blessedly  helped  thither.  In 
those  days  Milan  was  the  first  State  in  Italy,  and  every- 
where renowned  for  its  splendour.  I  had  so  great  a  love 
tor  art  and  learning  that  I  devoted  much  of  my  time  to 
study,  and  left  the  government  of  the  State  to  my  brother 
Antonio,  whom  I  loved  best  in  the  world  and  trusted 
beyond  measure.  But  he  was  false  to  the  confidence 
reposed  in  him,  and  soon  began  to  think  that  he  was  Duke 
in  reality.  He  therefore  entered  into  a  plot  with  an 
inveterate  enemy  of  mine,  Alonso,  King  of  Naples,  and 
by  promise  of  a  large  bribe  obtained  his  assistance.  A 
treacherous  army  was  levied,  and  one  midnight  Antonio 
opened  the  gates  of  Milan  to  the  King  of  Naples.  In  the 
dead  of  darkness  you  and  I  were  seized  and  hurried  away. 
So  great  was  the  love  borne  me  by  my  people  that  the 
traitors  dared  not  kill  us,  but  we  were  cast  adrift  in  a 
rotten  boat,  without  sail,  mast,  or  tackle.  By  the  kind- 
ness of  a  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo,  rich  stuffs,  foods, 
and  necessaries,  had  been  placed  in  the  boat,  together 
with  many  valuable  books  from  my  library,  which  I 
prize  more  than  my  dukedom.  The  waves  bore  us  to  this 
island,  and  here  we  have  lived  ever  since,  and  I  have  given 
such  care  to  your  teaching  that  you  know  more  than  many 
other  Princesses  with  more  leisure  time  and  less  careful 
tutors." 

"  Heaven  thank  you  for  it,  dear  father  !"  said  Miranda. 
"  And  now,  I  pray  you,  tell  me  your  reason  for  raising 
this  storm." 

By  his  magic  art,  Prospero  replied,  he  knew  that  by 
chance  his  enemies  had  come  near  the  island,  and  unless 

n  A  2 


The    Tempest 


he  seized  this  happy  moment  his  fortunes  would  droop, 
never  to  recover. 

"  But  ask  no  more  questions,  Miranda,"  he  ended. 
"  You  are  weary  ;  rest  here  and  sleep  a  little." 

As  soon  as  Miranda  was  asleep,  Prospero  summoned  his 
dainty  and  nimble  little  sprite,  Ariel,  and  asked  whether 
he  had  performed  his  bidding. 

"  In  every  particular,"  replied  Ariel  ;  and  he  told  his 
master  how,  in  the  guise  of  a  flame,  he  had  danced  all 
over  the  storm-driven  ship  till  the  whole  vessel  seemed  on 
fire,  and  every  one  on  board  except  the  mariners  had 
plunged  affrighted  into  the  sea. 

"  But  are  they  safe,  Ariel  ?" 

"  Not  a  hair  perished,  not  a  thread  of  their  garments 
hurt.  I  have  scattered  them  in  troops  about  the  island, 
as  you  bade  me.  The  King  of  Naples'  son,  Ferdinand, 
I  have  landed  by  himself,  and  now  he  is  sitting  and  sighing 
alone  in  an  odd  corner  of  the  isle." 

"  And  the  King's  ship  ?" 

"  Safely  in  harbour,  hidden  in  a  deep  nook.  The 
mariners,  already  weary  with  their  labour,  I  have  charmed 
away  to  sleep.  The  rest  of  the  fleet  which  I  scattered  have 
now  all  m^et  again,  and  are  in  the  Mediterranean,  bound 
sadly  home  for  Naples.  They  believe  that  they  have  seen 
the  King's  ship  wrecked,  and  that  all  on  board  have 
perished." 

Prospero  was  miuch  pleased  with  the  way  Ariel  had 
performed  his  charge,  but  he  said  there  was  still  some 
further  work  to  do.  He  promised  that  if  all  went  well 
Ariel  in  two  days  should  be  set  free  from  service,  and 
henceforward  should  be  his  own  master.     He  bade  Ariel 

4 


The    Magician^s    Isle 

now  take  a  new  shape — that  of  a  nymph  of  the  sea,  in- 
visible to  all  but  his  own  master.  In  this  guise  Ariel 
approached  the  young  Prince  of  Naples,  and  began  to 
sing  in  the  sweetest  fashion  : 

"  Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  ; 

Of  his  bones  a-e  coral  made  ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell  : 
Hark  !  now  I  hear  them,  ding-dong,  bell." 

Lured  by  the  sound  of  tliis  sweet  singing,  which  came 
he  knew  not  whence,  Ferdinand  followed  the  unseen  Ariel 
into  the  presence  of  Prospero  and  Miranda 

Now,  excepting  her  father,  Miranda  had  never  seen  a 
man,  and  at  first  she  did  not  know  what  Ferdinand  was. 

"  Is  it  a  spirit,  father  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  child ;  it  eats  and  sleeps,  and  has  the  same  senses 
that  we  have.  This  gallant  whom  you  see  was  in  the 
wreck,  and  except  that  his  handsome  face  is  somewhat 
worn  with  grief  and  trouble,  you  might  call  him  a  goodly 
person.  He  has  lost  his  companions,  and  wanders  about 
to  find  them." 

"  I  might  call  him  a  thing  divine,"  replied  Miranda 
warmly,  "for  I  never  saw  anything  so  noble." 

Ferdinand,  in  his  turn,  was  equally  enchanted  with  the 
sight  of  Miranda,  and  declared  on  the  spot  that,  if  there 
were  no  one  else  whom  she  already  loved,  he  would  make 
her  Queen  of  Naples. 

Prospero  was  delighted  with  the  way  mxatters  were 
going,  for  it  was  his  desire  that  the  young  people  sliould 

5 


The    Tempest 


love  each  other  ;  but  fearing  that  a  prize  so  easily  won 
would  be  held  too  light,  he  began  to  throw  some  diffi- 
culties in  the  way.  He  pretended  to  believe  that  Ferdi- 
nand was  not  really  a  King's  son,  and  had  come  to  the 
island  as  a  spy.  He  declared  he  would  put  him  into 
fetters,  and  give  him  only  the  coarsest  food  to  eat.  In 
vain  Miranda  implored  her  father  to  treat  the  young  Prince 
less  harshly.  Prospero  told  her  to  be  silent,  and  roughly 
bade  Ferdinand  to  follow  him. 

The  Prince  was  naturally  indignant  at  such  uncourteous 
treatment,  and  hastily  drew  his  sword  in  defiance.  But 
Prospero  threw  a  sudden  spell  over  the  young  man,  and 
he  stood  motionless,  unable  to  stir. 

"  What  ?  Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor  !"  commanded 
Prospero  sternly. 

And  Ferdinand,  feeling  himself  powerless  to  resist,  and 
happy  that  in  his  prison  he  should  at  least  have  the 
pleasure  of  beholding  the  beautiful  maiden  who  had  so 
kindly  pleaded  for  him,  followed  obediently  when  the 
magician  again  summoned  him. 


The  Shipwrecked  Wanderers 

Meanwhile  the  rest  of  the  royal  party  who  had  plunged 
mto  the  sea  from  the  King's  ship  were  wandering  in 
another  part  of  the  island.  Among  them  were  Alonso, 
King  of  Naples,  and  his  brother  Sebastian  ;  Antonio,  the 
usurping  Duke  of  Milan  ;  Gonzalo,  an  honest  old  coun- 
sellor of  the  King  of  Naples,  with  Adrian  and  Francisco, 
two  of  his  lords. 


The    Shipwrecked    Wanderers 

Exhausted  with  the  labour  they  had  undergone,  the 
whole  party,  with  the  exception  of  Sebastian  and  Antonio, 
presently  fell  asleep.  Antonio,  not  content  with  having 
driven  his  own  brother  from  the  dukedom  of  Milan,  now 
began  to  suggest  treachery  to  Sebastian,  the  brother  of 
the  King  of  Naples.  Ferdinand,  the  son  of  the  King  of 
Naples,  he  said,  must  certainly  have  been  drowned,  his 
only  daughter,  Claribel,  was  married,  and  far  away  in 
Africa — in  fact,  they  were  at  this  moment  on  their  way 
home  from  her  wedding  festivities — there  was  therefore 
no  near  heir  to  the  throne  of  Naples.  Antonio  suggested 
that  Sebastian  should  seize  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  as  he 
himself  had  usurped  that  of  Milan.  He  pointed  out  how 
easy  it  would  be  to  slay  King  Alonso  as  he  lay  there  asleep  ; 
in  fact,  he  offered  to  do  the  deed  himself,  while  Sebastian 
at  the  same  moment  was  to  put  an  end  to  the  faithful 
Gonzalo.  The  other  lords  would  offer  no  resistance,  but 
would  willingly  agree  to  any  suggestions  made  to  them. 

Sebastian  was  only  too  ready  to  fall  in  with  this  wicked 
scheme,  but  in  the  meanwhile,  invisible  to  them,  Ariel 
came  near,  and  at  the  very  moment  when  the  traitors 
had  drawn  their  swords  and  were  about  to  kill  Alonso 
and  Gonzalo  he  sang  in  the  ear  of  the  latter  and  awakened 
him. 

"  Good  angels  save  the  King  !"  cried  Gonzalo  ;  and 
Alonso  started  awake  at  the  shout. 

"  Why  !  how  now  ?  Ho,  awake  !"  cried  the  King. 
"  Why  are  your  swords  drawn  ?  Why  do  you  look  so 
ghastly  ?" 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  added  Gonzalo,  still  dazed  with 
sleep. 

9 


The    Tempest 


"  While  we  stood  here  guarding  your  repose  just  now," 
said  Sebastian,  with  a  ready  He,  "we  heard  a  hollow  burst 
of  bellowing  like  bulls,  or,  rather,  lions.  Did  it  not  wake 
you  ?     It  struck  my  ear  most  terribly." 

"  I  heard  nothing,"  said  the  King. 

"  Oh,  it  was  din  enough  to  frighten  a  monster — to  make 
an  earthquake  !"  said  Antonio.  "  Surely  it  was  the  roar 
of  a  whole  herd  of  lions." 

"  Did  you  hear  this,  Gonzalo  ?"  asked  the  King. 

"  Upon  mine  honour,  sir,  I  heard  a  humming,  and  that 
a  strange  one,  too,  which  wakened  me.  I  shook  you,  sir, 
and  cried  out.  As  my  eyes  opened  I  saw  their  weapons. 
There  certainly  was  a  noise.  We  had  better  stand  on 
guard,  or  leave  this  place.     Let  us  draw  our  weapons." 

"  Lead  away  from  here,"  commanded  the  King.  "  Let 
us  make  further  search  for  my  poor  son." 

"  Heaven  keep  him  from  these  beasts  !"  said  Gonzalo. 
"  For  he  is  surely  in  the  island." 

"  Lead  away,"  repeated  Alonso. 

"  Prospero  shall  know  what  I  have  done,"  said  Ariel,  as 
Alonso  and  his  companions  started  again  on  their  wander- 
ings.    "  Go,  King — go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son." 


The  King's  Son 

Prospero,  in  order  to  carry  out  his  plans,  pretended  to 
be  very  harsh  and  severe  with  the  young  Prince  of  Naples, 
and  he  set  him  a  heavy  task — to  remove  and  pile  up  some 
thousands  of  logs.  For  the  sake  of  the  love  he  already 
bore   to   Miranda,   Ferdinand   obeyed  patiently,   and    it 

lo 


i 


The    King's    Son 


sweetened  and  refreshed  his  labour  to  see  how  distressed 
the  gentle  maiden  was  at  the  sight  of  his  toil. 

"  Alas  !  I  pray  you,  do  not  work  so  hard,"  entreated 
Miranda,  as  she  met  him  bearing  a  log.  "  I  would  the 
lightning  had  burnt  up  all  these  logs  I  Pray  set  that  down 
and  rest  you.  My  father  is  hard  at  study  :  pray,  now, 
rest  yourself ;  he  is  safe  for  the  next  three  hours." 

"  Oh,  most  dear  lady  !"  said  Ferdinand,  "  the  sun  will 
set  before  I  can  finish  what  I  must  strive  to  do." 

"  If  you  will  sit  down,"  said  Miranda,  ''  I  will  carry  your 
logs  the  while.  Pray  give  me  that ;  I  will  carry  it  to 
the  pile." 

"  No,  dear  lady,  I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break 
my  back,  than  that  you  should  undergo  such  dishonour 
while  I  sit  lazy  by." 

"  It  would  become  me  as  well  as  it  does  you,"  said 
Miranda,  "  and  I  would  do  it  the  more  easily,  because  I 
want  to  do  it  and  you  do  not.     You  look  weary." 

"  No,  noble  lady ;  when  you  are  near  me  the  night 
becomes  fresh  morning,"  said  Ferdinand.  "  I  do  beseech 
you — chiefly  that  I  may  set  it  in  my  prayers — what  is 
your  name  ?" 

"  Miranda." 

"  Admired  Miranda  !  Dearest  namxC  in  the  world  !" 
cried  Ferdinand.  "  Many  gentle  ladies  I  have  been 
pleased  to  see  and  to  talk  with,  and  I  have  liked  different 
women  for  different  virtues ;  but  never  until  now  have  I 
found  one  without  some  defect.  But  you — oh,  you,  so 
perfect  and  so  peerless  ! — are  created  the  best  of  every 
creature  !" 

"  I  do  not  know  any  other  woman,"  said  Miranda  simply. 

II 


The    Tempest 


*'  I  remember  no  woman's  face  save,  from  my  glass,  mine 
own.  Nor  have  I  seen  others  that  I  may  call  men,  except 
you,  good  friend,  and  my  dear  father.  I  do  not  know 
what  they  may  be  like,  but,  in  simple  truth,  I  would  not 
wish  any  companion  in  the  world  but  you,   nor  can  I 


^^^   :^ 


"  I  love  and  honour  you  beyond  all  limit." 

imagine  anyone  whose  look  I  would  like  better.  But  1 
prattle  too  wildly,  and  in  that  forget  my  father's  precepts." 
"  In  rank  I  am  a  Prince,  Miranda,"  said  Ferdinand,  "  I 
think  a  King :  would  it  were  not  so  !"  For  he  thought 
his  father  had  perished  with  the  ship.  "  I  would  not  for 
one  moment  endure  this  slavery  if  it  were  not  for  you. 
The  very  instant  I  saw  you  my  heart  flew  to  your  service, 
and  for  your  sake  I  carry  these  logs  patiently." 

12 


The    King's    Son 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?" 

"  By  heaven  and  earth,  I  love,  prize,  and  honour  you 
beyond  all  limit  of  everything  else  in  the  world  !" 

Miranda's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  joy. 

"  I  am  foolish  to  weep  for  what  I  am  glad  of,"  she 
whispered. 

"  Why  do  you  weep  ?"  said  Ferdinand. 

"  Because  I  am  unworthy  to  offer  the  love  I  desire  to 
give,"  said  Miranda,  "  much  less  to  take  what  I  shall  die 
for  if  I  do  not  have.  I  am  your  wife  if  you  will  marry 
me ;  if  not,  I'll  die  a  maid.  You  may  refuse  to  have 
me  as  your  companion,  but  I'll  be  your  servant,  whether 
you  will  or  no." 

"  My  Queen,  dearest,  and  I  thus  humble  ever,"  said 
Ferdinand,  kneeling  before  her. 

''  My  husband,  then  ?" 

"  Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing  as  freedom  after  bondage : 
here's  my  hand." 

"  And  mine,  with  my  heart  in  it.  And  now,  till  half 
an  hour  hence,  farewell  !" 

"  A  thousand  thousand  !"  cried  Ferdinand  ;  and  so  they 
parted. 

Unseen  by  the  young  lovers,  Prospero,  in  his  cell,  had 
listened  to  all  that  passed,  and  his  rejoicing  was  scarcely 
less  than  theirs  to  find  that  his  schemes  were  working  so 
well.  But  he  had  still  nmch  to  do  before  supper-time,  and 
he  now  returned  to  his  books. 


T3 


The    Tempest 


M3/sterious  Music 

While  Antonio  and  Sebastian  were  discussing  their 
scheme  to  murder  the  King  of  Naples,  another  band  of 
wretched  creatures  was  plotting  mischief  against  the 
lord  of  the  island.  When  Prospero  had  first  come  to  this 
island,  he  found  it  inhabited  by  a  hideous  young  monster 
called  Caliban,  the  son  of  a  wicked  witch  who  had  been 
banished  there  from  her  own  country.  This  witch — 
Sycorax — had  for  servant  the  dainty  sprite  Ariel,  and 
because  Ariel  refused  to  obey  her  evil  commands  she 
imprisoncLl  him  as  a  punishment  in  the  trunk  of  a  cloven 
pine-tree.  Here  Ariel  abode  in  torment  and  misery  for 
twelve  years,  during  which  time  Sycorax  died,  and  left 
her  son  Caliban  as  the  only  inhabitant  of  the  island. 

Prospero,  on  his  arrival,  set  x\riel  free,  and  took  him 
into  his  own  service,  and,  pitying  the  young  Caliban,  he 
at  first  tried  by  kindness  to  tame  his  savage  nature.  But 
all  his  efforts  were  useless.  Caliban  hated  everything 
good,  and  repaid  Prospero's  kindness  with  malice  and 
evil  doing.  Prospero  found  that  gentle  means  were  of 
no  avail,  and  that  the  only  way  in  which  to  keep  Caliban 
in  order  was  to  treat  him  with  stern  severity.  For  this: 
Caliban  hated  his  master,  and  was  always  longing  to 
be  revenged  on  him. 

Among  those  saved  from  the  King's  ship  were  two 
worthless  scamps — Trinculo,  a  jester,  and  Stephano,  a 
drunken  butler.  Caliban,  meeting  them  by  chance, 
immediately  begged  to  become  their  servant,  hoping  by 
this  means  to  escape  from  Prospero.     He  further  offered 

14 


Mysterious    Music 


to  lead  them  to  where  Prospero  lay  asleep,  so  that  they 
might  kill  the  magician.  It  was  agreed  that  Stephano  was 
then  to  marry  Miranda,  and  become  the  lord  of  the  island, 
and  Caliban  was  to  be  his  servant. 

While  they  were  talking,  Ariel  entered,  invisible.  He 
listened  to  their  plots,  and  amused  himself  by  speaking  a 
few  words  every  now  and  then,  which  soon  set  the  con- 
spirators quarrelling,  for  they  none  of  them  knew  where 
the  voice  came  from,  and  thought  it  was  one  of  themselves 
mocking  the  others.  Finally  Ariel  began  to  play  mys- 
terious music  on  a  pipe  and  tabor.  Stephano  and  Trinculo 
were  greatly  alarmed,  but  Caliban  soothed  them,  saying 
that  the  island  was  full  of  noises  and  sweet  sounds  which 
gave  delight  and  did  no  hurt. 

"  Sometimes  a  thousand  instruments  will  hum  about 
mine  ears,"  he  said,  "  and  sometimes  voices,  which,  if  I 
awake  after  a  long  sleep,  will  make  me  sleep  again. 
Then  in  dreams  the  clouds  seem  to  open  and  show  riches 
ready  to  drop  on  me,  so  that  when  I  awake  I  cry  to  dream 
again." 

"  This  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me,  where  I  shall 
have  my  music  for  nothing,"  said  Stephano. 

^     "  When  Prospero  is  destroyed,"  put  in  Cahban. 

I     "  That  shall  be  at  once,"  replied  Stephano. 

■     "  The  sound  is  going  away ;  let  us  follow  it,  and  do  our 
work  afterwards,"  said  Trinculo. 

"  Go  on,  monster ;  we  will  follow,"  said  Stephano  to 
Caliban.     "  I  would  I  could  see  this  taborer  ;  he  plays 

j   bravely." 

So  with  his  mysterious  music  Ariel   lured   the  three 
illains   away.     He  led  them   a  pretty   dance,   through 


The    Tempest 

briars,  sharp  furze,  prickly  gorse,  and  thorns,  which  ran 
into  their  poor  shins  ;  and  finally  he  left  them  in  the  filthy 
water  of  a  stagnant  pool,  not  far  from  Prospero's  cell. 

In  the  meanwhile  Alonso,  King  of  Naples,  and  his 
party  were  still  wandering  about  the  island ;  but  by-and- 
by  they  grew  so  weary  that  poor  old  Gonzalo  declared  he 
could  go  no  further. 

"  I  cannot  blame  you,"  said  King  Alonso,  "for  I  myself 
am  dull  with  weariness.  Sit  down  and  rest.  Now  here 
I  give  up  hope  that  I  shall  ever  see  my  son  again.  He 
is  drowned,  and  the  sea  mocks  our  useless  search  on 
land." 

The  traitor  Antonio  was  delighted  to  see  that  the  King 
had  lost  all  hope,  and  he  begged  Sebastian  not  to  give  up 
their  wicked  scheme  because  it  had  been  once  repulsed. 

"  The  next  advantage  we  will  take  thoroughly,"  Sebas- 
tian whispered  back  to  Antonio. 

"  Let  it  be  to-night,"  said  Antonio,  "  for  now  they  are 
so  worn  out  with  travel  they  will  not  and  cannot  use  such 
vigilance  as  when  they  are  fresh." 

"  I  say  to-night,"  agreed  Sebastian.     "  No  more." 

At  that  moment  strange  and  solemn  music  was  heard. 

"  What  harmony  is  this  ?"  said  the  King.  "  Hark,  my 
good  friends  !" 

"  Marvellous  sweet  music  !"  said  Gonzalo. 

Unseen  by  them,  Prospero  entered,  and  by  his  magic 
art  he  caused  a  number  of  strange  and  grotesque  figures 
to  appear,  who  brought  in  a  banquet.  After  dancing 
round  it  with  gentle  actions  of  greeting,  and  inviting  the,; 
King  and  his  companions  to  eat,  they  disappeared, 

i6 


Mysterious    Music 

''Give  us  kind  keepers,  heaven!  What  were  these?" 
exclaimed  the  startled  King. 

"  If  I  reported  this  in  Naples,  would  they  believe  me  ?" 
said  Gonzalo.  ''  These  must  be  islanders,  and  although 
they  are  of  such  strange  shapes,  yet  note,  their  manners 
are  more  gentle  and  kind  than  many  of  our  human 
race." 

"  You  speak  well,  honest  lord,"  said  Prospero  aside, 
"  for  some  of  you  there  are  worse  than  devils." 

"They  vanished  strangely,"  said  Francisco. 

"  No  matter,  since  they  left  their  viands  behind  them," 
said  Sebastian.  "  Will  it  please  your  Majesty  to  taste  of 
what  is  here  ?" 

"  Not  I,"  said  Alonso. 

"  Faith,  sir,  you  need  not  fear,"  said  Gonzalo. 

"  Well,  I  will  eat,  although  it  be  my  last  meal,"  said  the 
King.  "  Brother,  and  you,  my  Lord  Duke  of  Milan,  do 
as  we  do." 

At  that  instant  there  was  a  peal  of  thunder  and  a  flash 
of  lightning.  Ariel,  in  the  form  of  a  harpy,  a  hideous  bird 
of  prey,  flew  in  and  flapped  his  wings  over  the  table,  and 
immediately  the  banquet  vanished. 

"  You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  Destiny  has  cast  upon 
this  island  because  you  are  quite  imfit  to  live  among  men," 
he  said,  addressing  Alonso,  Sebastian,  and  Antonio. 

Enraged,  they  drew  their  swords,  but  Ariel  only  mocked 
at  them. 

"  You  fools  !  I  and  my  fellows  are  ministers  of  Fate. 
Your  swords  might  as  well  try  to  wound  the  winds  or 
stab  the  water,  as  hurt  one  feather  of  my  plumage.  If 
you  could  hurt,  your  swords  are  now  too  heavy  for  your 

J?  8 


The    Tempest 


strength,  and  you  cannot  lift  them.  But  remember — 
for  this  is  my  business  to  you — that  you  three  supplanted 
the  good  Duke  Prospero  from  Milan,  cast  him  and  his 
innocent  child  adrift  on  the  sea,  which  hath  now  revenged 
it.  The  heavenly  powers  have  delayed  punishment  for  this 
foul  deed,  but  they  have  not  forgotten  it,  and  now  they 
have  incensed  the  sea  and  the  shore  and  all  creatures 
against  you.  They  have  bereft  you,  Alonso,  of  your  son, 
and  they  pronounce  by  me  that  lingering  perdition  worse 
than  any  death  shall  fall  in  this  desolate  island  on  you 
and  all  your  waj/s,  unless  you  heartily  repent  and  amend 
your  life." 

Ariel  vanished  in  thunder,  and  then  to  soft  music 
entered  the  strange  shapes  again,  and,  with  a  mocking 
dance,  carried  out  the  table  on  which  the  banquet  had 
been  spread. 

"  Bravely  done,  my  Ariel  !"  said  Prospero  aside,  while 
the  King  of  Naples  and  his  companions  stood  mute  with 
amazement.  "  My  charms  are  working,  and  these  my 
enemies  are  quite  astounded.  They  are  now  in  my 
power,'  and  here  I  will  leave  them  while  I  visit  young 
Ferdinand — whom  they  think  drowned — and  his  and  my 
loved  darling." 

"  In  the  name  of  heaven,  sir,  why  do  you  stand  with 
that  strange  stare  ?"  asked  Gonzalo  of  the  King. 

"  Oh,  it  is  monstrous,  monstrous  !"  cried  the  conscience- 
stricken  Alonso.  "  I  thought  the  billows  spoke  and  told 
me  of  my  wicked  deed,  the  winds  sang  it  to  me,  and  the 
thunder  pronounced  the  name  of  '  Prospero.'  Therefore 
my  son  is  drowned,  and  I  will  lie  with  him  fathoms  deep 
below  the  waves." 

18 


"The    Seas    are    merciful" 

So  saying,  he  hurried  from  the  spot,  followed  at  once 
by  Sebastian  and  Antonio. 

"  All  three  of  them  are  desperate,"  said  Gonzalo.  "  Their 
great  guilt,  like  poison  which  takes  a  long  time  to  work, 
now  begins  to  bite  their  spirit.  I  do  beseech  you,"  he 
added  to  the  lords  in  waiting,  "  follow  them  swiftly,  and 
hinder  them  from  what  this  madness  may  provoke  them 
to." 


"  Though  the  Seas  threaten,  they  are  merciful  " 

The  hard  toil  which  Prospero  had  set  the  Prince  of  Naples 
did  not  last  long,  and  when  the  magician  saw  that  the 
young  people  loved  each  other  sincerely  he  put  an  end  to 
the  trial,  and  bade  them  be  happy  together.  To  give 
them  pleasure  and  show  them  some  proof  of  his  magic 
powers,  he  summoned  a  troop  of  beautiful  spirits — Iris, 
Ceres,  Juno,  some  water-nymphs,  and  various  reapers, 
who  sang  sweet  songs  to  them  and  danced  graceful 
dances. 

But  the  moment  of  Caliban's  plot  was  approaching. 
Prospero  dismissed  the  spirits,  and  began  to  prepare  for 
punishing  the  conspirators.  Sending  Ferdinand  and 
Miranda  to  wait  for  him  in  his  cell,  he  bade  Ariel  fetch 
some  glistening  apparel,  and  hang  it  up  on  a  line  near,  in 
order  to  serve  as  a  bait  to  catch  the  thieves. 

His  plan  succeeded.  Caliban,  Stephano,  and  Trinculo 
1  soon  appeared,  all  wet  from  the  stagnant  pool  into  which 
j  \hey  had  been  lured  by  Ariel's  music. 

''  Pray  you,    tread   softly,   that   the   blind   mole    may 

19  B  ? 

I 


The    Tempest 


not   hear  a  footfall ;    we  are  now  near   his  cell,"  said 
Caliban. 

"  O  King  Stephano  !  O  peer  !  O  worthy  Stephano  ! 
Look  what  a  wardrobe  is  here  for  you  !"  cried  Trinculo, 
catching  hold  of  the  garments  hanging  on  the  line. 

"  Let  it  alone,  you  fool ;  it  is  but  trash !"  said  Caliban. 

"  Put  off  that  gown,  Trinculo,"  said  Stephano,  equally 
greedy  in  his  turn.     "  By  this  hand,  I'll  have  that  gown  !" 

"  Your  grace  shall  have  it,"  said  Trinculo  submis- 
sivety. 

"  Why  do  you  waste  time  on  this  rubbish  ?"  entreated 
Caliban.  "  Let  us  do  the  murder  first.  If  Prospero 
awakens  he  will  punish  us  cruelly  for  this." 

"  You  be  quiet,  monster,"  said  Stephano  rudely  ;  and 
he  and  Trinculo  went  on  helping  themselves  to  the  fine 
clothes  which  x\riel  had  cunningly  displayed.  "  Come, 
monster,  take  what  we  leave." 

"  I  will  have  none  of  them,"  declared  Caliban.     "  We 
shall  lose  our  time,  and  if  Prospero  catches  us^  he"^vvill^ 
change  us  all  into  barnacles  or  apes." 

"  Help  us  to  carry  these  away,  or  I'll  turn  you  out  of 
my  kingdom.     Go  to,  carry  this  !"  commanded  Stephano. 

"And  this,"  added  Trinculo  ;  and  they  began  to  load 
poor  Caliban  with  their  spoils. 

Suddenly  a  noise  of  hunters  was  heard,  and  a  band  of 
spirits  in  the  shape  of  dogs  swept  along,  and  set  upon  the 
three  guilty  men,  chasing  them  about,  while  Prospero  and 
Ariel  urged  on  the  dogs. 

"  Hey,  Mountain,  hey  !" 

"  Silver  !     There  it  goes.  Silver  !" 

"  Fury,  Fury  !     There,  Tyrant,  there  !     Hark,  hark  I" 

20 


"The    Seas    are    merciful'^ 

When  Caliban,  Stephano,  and  Trinculo  had  been  driven 
away,  Prospero  spoke  to  Ariel. 

"  Let  them  be  hunted  soundly.  Now  all  my  enemies 
lie  at  my  mercy.  My  labours  will  soon  be  ended,  and 
then  thou  shalt  be  free  as  air.  Follow  me  still  for  a  little, 
and  do  me  service.  Now,  tell  me,  how  fares  the  King  and 
his  followers  ?" 

"  Just  as  you  left  them — all  prisoners,  sir,  in  the  grove 
of  trees  which  shelters  5/our  cell.  They  cannot  stir  until 
you  release  them.  The  King,  his  brother,  and  your 
brother  are  quite  distracted,  and  their  lords  are  mourning 
over  them,  and  chiefly  he  whom  you  termed  '  the  good 
old  lord  Gonzalo.'  Your  charm  affects  them  so  strongly 
that  if  you  beheld  them  now  you  would  pity  them." 

"  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit  ?" 

*'  I  would,  sir,  if  I  were  human." 

*'  And  I  will,"  said  Prospero.  "  Now  that  they  are 
penitent  my  purpose  is  accomplished.  Go,  release  them, 
Ariel.  Til  break  my  charms.  Pll  restore  their  senses,  and 
they  shall  be  themselves." 

"  ril  fetch  them,  sir,"  said  Ariel ;  and  he  gladty  hastened 
away  to  do  his  master's  bidding. 

Left  alone,  Prospero  took  a  solemn  farewell  of  all  the 
powers  of  magic  which  he  had  practised  for  so  long,  and 
declared  that,  after  one  last  charm  which  he  waz  now  going 
to  work,  he  would  break  his  wizard's  wand  and  drown 
his  book. 

When  Ariel  returned  with  Alonso,  Sebastian,  and  Antonio, 
and  the  lords  in  waiting,  they  all  entered  a  charmed  circle 
which  Prospero  had  made,  and  stood  there  unable  to 
move. 

21 


The    Tempest 


*'  There  stand,  for  you  are  spell-bound,"  said  Prospero. 
"  O  good  Gonzalo,  my  true  preserver,  and  loyal  servant  to 
your  master,  I  will  pay  you  both  in  word  and  deed. 
Alonso,  most  cruelly  did  you  use  me  and  my  daughter ; 
your  brother  helped  you  in  the  deed — he  is  punished  for 
it  now.  You,  brother  mine,  unnatural  though  you  are — - 
I  forgive  you." 

While  Prospero  was  speaking,  the  King  and  his  com- 
panions slowly  began  to  recover  their  senses  ;  but  they 
did  not  yet  recognise  Prospero,  for  he  was  clad  in  his 
magic  robes. 

"  Fetch  me  the  hat  and  rapier  in  my  cell,  Ariel,"  he 
said.  "  I  will  discard  these  garments,  and  show  myself 
as  when  I  was  Duke  of  Milan.  Quickly,  spirit  !  Thou 
shalt  be  free  ere  long." 

Gladly  Ariel  set  to  work,  singing  a  gay  little  song  as  he 
helped  to  attire  his  master  : 

"  Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I  : 
In  a  cowsHp's  bell  I  lie  ; 
There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry. 
On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 
After  summer  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough." 

Then  Prospero  sent  him  to  find  the  King's  ship,  and  to 
bring  back  the  master  and  boatswain.  ij 

Poor  old  Gonzalo  was  greatly  amazed  and  troubled  at  - 
all  the  strange  things  that  were  happening.  ; 

"  Some  heavenly  power  guide  us  out  of   this  fearful  i 
country  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Behold,  Sir  King,  the  wronged  Duke  of  Milan,  Pros 

22 


^^The    Seas   are    merciful" 

pero,"  said  the  magician  to  Alonso.  "  To  give  thee  more 
assurance  that  a  Hving  Prince  speaks  to  thee,  I  embrace 
thee,  and  bid  a  hearty  welcome  to  thee  and  thy  company." 

"  Whether  thou  be  he  or  not,  or  some  enchanted  trifle 
to  torment  me,  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  bewildered  King. 
*'  Thy  pulse  beats  like  flesh  and  blood,  and  since  I  have 
seen  thee  my  madness  has  abated.  I  resign  thy  dukedom, 
and  entreat  thy  pardon  for  my  wrong-doing.  But  how 
can  Prospero  be  living  and  be  here  ?" 

"  Welcome,  my  friends  all  !"  said  Prospero.  "  But  you, 
my  brace  of  lords,"  he  added,  aside  to  Sebastian  and 
Antonio,  "  if  I  were  so  minded,  I  could  make  his  Highness 
frown  on  you  and  prove  you  traitors.  At  this  time  1  will 
tell  no  tales." 

"  The  devil  speaks  in  him,"  muttered  Sebastian,  con- 
scious of  his  guilt. 

"  No,"  replied  Prospero  quietly.  "  For  you,  most 
wicked  sir,"  he  said  to  his  brother  Antonio,  "  I  forgive  all 
your  faults,  and  require  my  dukedom  of  thee,  which 
perforce  I  know  thou  must  restore." 

"  If  you  are  Prospero,  tell  us  how  you  were  saved,  and 
how  you  have  met  us  here,"  said  the  King  of  Naples. 
"  Three  hours  ago  we  were  wrecked  upon  this  shore — alas, 
where  I  have  lost — how  bitter  is  the  remembrance  ! — 
my  dear  son  Ferdinand." 

''  I  am  sorry  for  it,  sir,"  said  Prospero. 

"  The  loss  can  never  be  made  up,  and  is  past  the  cure 
of  patience." 

"  I  rather  think  you  have  not  sought  the  help  of 
patience,"  said  Prospero.  "  For  the  like  loss  I  have  its 
sovereign  aid,  and  rest  myself  content." 

23 


The    Tempest 


''  You  the  like  loss  ?" 

"  As  great  to  me  ;  for  I  have  lost  my  daughter." 

"  A  daughter  ?"  cried  Alonso.  '•'  Oh,  would  that  they 
were  both  living  in  Naples  as  King  and  Queen  !  When 
did  you  lose  your  daughter  ?" 

'-  In  this  last  tempest,"  said  Prospero,  smiling  to  himself. 
"  But  come,  no  more  of  this.  Welcome,  sir ;  this  cell  is 
my  court.  I  have  few  attendants  here,  and  no  subjects 
abroad.  Pray  you,  look  in.  Since  you  have  given  me 
back  my  dukedom,  I  will  reward  you  with  somicthing 
equally  good,  or,  at  least,  show  you  a  wonder  which 
will  content  you  as  much  as  my  dukedom  does  me." 

And,  drawing  aside  the  curtain  which  veiled  the  entrance 
to  his  cell,  Prospero  disclosed  to  view  Ferdinand  and 
Miranda  playing  at  chess. 

"  Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false,"  said  Miranda. 

"  No,  my  dearest  love,  I  would  not  for  the  world,"  said 
Ferdinand. 

"  If  this  prove  a  vision  of  the  island,  I  shall  lose  my 
dear  son  a  second  time,"  murmured  Alonso. 

"  A  most  high  miracle  !"  exclaimed  Sebastian. 

"  Though  the  seas  threaten,  they  are  merciful,"  cried 
Ferdinand,  springing  from  his  seat  at  the  sight  of  his 
father,  and  falling  on  his  knees  before  him. 

"  Now  all  the  blessings  of  a  glad  father  compass  thee 
about,"  said  Alonso,  overcome  with  joy  to  see  his  dear  son 
again. 

Miranda  in  the  meanwhile  was  gazing  in  wonder  at  all 
these  strange  visitors  who  had  come  to  the  island. 

"  Oh,  brave  new  world  that  has  such  people  in  it !"  she 
cried  in  delight. 

24 


^^The    Seas    are    merciful" 

"  Who  is  this  maiden  ?"  Alonso  asked  his  son.  "  Is  she 
some  goddess  ?" 

"  Sir,  she  is  mortal,  and  she  is  mine,"  answered  Fer- 
dinand. "  I  chose  her  when  I  thought  I  had  no  father. 
She  is  daughter  to  the  famous  Duke  of  Milan,  of  whose 
renown  I  have  so  often  heard." 

Then  Alonso  gave  his  blessing  to  the  young  couple,  and 
the  good  Gonzalo  breathed  a  hearty  "  Amen  !" 

At  this  moment  Ariel  appeared,  followed  by  the  aston- 
ished master  of  the  King's  ship  and  the  boatswain.  They 
were  overjoyed  to  see  the  King  and  his  companions  again, 
and  brought  word  that  the  ship  was  as  safe  and  bravely 
rigged  as  when  they  first  put  out  to  sea. 

"  Sir,  all  this  service  have  I  done  since  I  left  you," 
whispered  Ariel  to  Prospero.     "  Was  it  well  done  ?" 

''  Bravely,  good  spirit,"  said  Prospero.  "  Thou  shalt 
soon  be  free." 

Then  he  commanded  him  to  go  and  take  off  the  spell 
from  Caliban  and  his  companions,  and  after  a  few  minutes' 
absence  Ariel  returned  driving  in  the  three  men,  clad  in 
their  stolen  apparel. 

"  Mark  these  men,  my  lords,"  said  Prospero.  "  These 
three  have  robbed  me,  and  this  witch's  son  had  plotted 
with  the  others  to  take  my  life.  Two  of  these  fellows 
you  must  know  and  own  ;  this  thing  of  darkness  I  acknow- 
ledge mine." 

"  Is  not  this  Stephano,  my  drunken  butler  ?"  said  the 
King  of  Naples. 

"  Why,  how  now,  Stephano  ?"  said  Sebastian  mockingly. 

"  You  would  be  King  of  the  isle,  sirrah  ?"  demanded 
Prospero. 

25 


The    Tempest 


^'  I  should  have  been  a  sore  one,  then,"  groaned  Stephano, 
for  he  and  his  worthless  friends  were  still  aching  all  over 
from  the  punishment  inflicted  on  them. 

"That  is  as  strange  a  thing  as  ever  I  looked  on,"  said 
Alonso,  pointing  to  Caliban. 

"  His  manners  are  as  ugly  as  his  appearance,"  answered 
Prospero.  "Go,  sirrah,  to  my  cell.  Take  your  com- 
panions with  you,  and  if  you  hope  to  have  my  pardon, 
behave  properly." 

"  Ay,  that  I  will,"  said  Caliban  ;  "  and  I  will  be  wise 
hereafter,  and  try  to  be  better.  What  a  thrice-double 
ass  I  was  to  take  that  drunkard  for  my  master  !" 

And  he  departed  with  his  companions,  glad  to  have 
escaped  so  lightly. 

Then  Prospero  invited  the  King  and  his  other  guests 
into  his  cell,  where  they  were  to  rest  for  one  night.  The 
next  morning  they  were  all  to  set  sail  for  Naples,  where 
the  marriage  between  Prince  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  was 
to  take  place,  after  which  Prospero  would  retire  to  his 
own  dukedom  of  Milan.  Finally  he  gave  his  last  charge 
to  Ariel,  and  bade  him  see  that  the  King's  ship  should 
have  calm  seas  and  fair  winds  to  waft  it  quickly  on  its 
way. 

"  My  Ariel,  chick,  that  is  thy  charge,"  said  Prospero. 
"  Then  be  free  as  the  elements,  and  fare  thee  well !" 


2b 


o    Gentlemen    of  Verona 


Now  let  us  take  our  Leave  " 


HERE  lived  once  in  Verona  two  friends 
who  loved  each  other  dearly ;  their 
names  were  Valentine  and  Proteus. 
They  were  both  young  and  gallant 
gentlemen,  but  they  were  very  different 
in  character,  as  you  will  presently  see. 
Valentine  was  simple  and  honest,  a 
loyal  and  devoted  friend,  and  too  candid  and  sincere 
himself  to  think  of  treachery  in  others.  Proteus  had 
warm  affections,  but  he  was  fickle  and  changeable,  carried 
away  by  impulse,  and  always  so   desperately  eager  for 

27 


= 


Two    Gentlemen    of    Verona 

what  he  happened  to  want  at  the  moment  that  he  stopped 
at  no  means  to  gain  his  ends. 

Valentine  and  Proteus  were  very  happy  together  as 
companions,  but  at  last  the  time  came  when  they  were 
to  part.  Valentine  was  not  content  to  settle  down  at 
Verona  ;  he  wanted  to  see  something  of  the  world  and 
its  wider  life. 

"  Home-keeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits,"  he  said 
to  Proteus,  who  was  trying  to  persuade  him  to  stay.  "  If 
it  were  not  that  you  were  chained  here  by  your  affections 
I  would  rather  beg  your  company  to  see  the  wonders  of 
the  world  abroad.  But  since  you  are  in  love,  love  still, 
and  thrive  in  it,  even  as  I  v/ould  when  I  once  begin  to 
love." 

This  he  said  because  Froteus  was  deeply  in  love  at 
that  moment  with  a  fair  lady  of  Verona  called  Julia. 
And  then  Valentine  went  on  to  tease  Proteus,  pretending 
that  all  love  was  folly,  and  that  only  foolish  people  let 
themselves  be  deluded  into  it.  He  little  knew  how  soon 
he  was  himself  to  be  caught  in  the  same  folly,  and  how 
basely  and  treacherously  his  friend  was  going  to  act 
towards  him. 

However,  at  that  moment  Proteus  had  no  thought  for 
anyone  but  Julia,  and  would  not  have  left  Verona  on  any 
account.  The  two  friends  took  an  affectionate  farewell 
of  each  other,  and  Valentine  went  his  way,  to  travel  to 
the  Court  of  Milan. 

"  He  hunts  after  honour,  I  after  love,"  thought  Proteus, 
when  his  friend  had  left  him.  "  He  leaves  his  friends  to 
bring  more  credit  to  them  by  improving  himself.  I  leave 
tnyself,  my  friends,  and  all,  for  love.     Thou,  Julia,  hast 

28 


*'Now    let    us    take    our    Leave" 

changed  me,  made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  my  time, 
fight  against  good  counsel,  set  the  world  at  naught, 
weaken  my  brains  with  dreaming,  and  make  my  heart 
sick  with  thought  !" 

While  Proteus  was  indulging  in  this  rhapsody.  Speed, 
the  clownish  servant  of  Valentine,  came  hurrying  up. 

"  Sir  Proteus,  save  you  !"  he  cried,  in  the  greeting  of 
those  days.     "  Saw  you  my  master  ?" 

"  He  has  just  this  minute  gone  to  embark  for  Milan,"  re- 
plied Proteus.  "  Did  you  give  my  letter  to  the  Lady  Juha  ?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  and  she  gave  me  nothing  for  my  labour,"  said 
Speed,  who  was  out  of  temper  at  not  having  received  the 
handsome  fee  he  was  hoping  for. 

"  But  what  did  she  say  ?"  asked  Proteus  eagerly. 

"  Oh— she  nodded  !" 

"  Come,  come,  what  did  she  say  ?" 

"  If  you  will  open  your  purse,  sir  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  there  is  something  for  your  trouble.  Now,  what 
did  she  say  ?" 

"  Truly,  sir,  I  think  you  will  hardly  win  her,"  said  Speed 
with  a  sly  look,  pocketing  the  piece  of  money  Proteus 
threw  to  him. 

"  W^hy  ?  Could  you  perceive  so  much  from  her 
manner  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  could  perceive  nothing  at  all  from  her — no,  not 
so  much  as  a  ducat  for  delivering  your  letter.  And  as  she 
was  so  hard  to  me  who  was  your  messenger,  I  fear  she 
will  prove  equally  hard  to  you.  Give  her  no  present  but 
a  stone,  for  she  is  as  hard  as  steel." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  Nothing  ?"  repeated  poor 
Pvoteus, 

29 


Two    Gentlemen    of    Verona 

"  No,  not  so  much  as  '  Take  that  for  your  pains,'  "  said 
Speed,  still  harping  on  his  own  grievance.  "  1  thank  you 
for  your  bounty,  sir.  Henceforth  carry  your  letters  your- 
self.    And  so  1  will  go  seek  my  master." 

"  Go,  go,  to  save  your  ship  from  wreck  !"  cried  Proteus, 
incensed  at  the  fellow's  impertinence.  "  It  cannot  perish 
when  you  are  aboard,  for  you  are  certainly  destined  for  a 
drier  death  on  shore ! — I  must  find  some  better  messenger 
to  send,"  he  added  to  himself,  when  the  sauc}^  serving- 
man  had  taken  himself  off.  "  I  am  afraid  my  Julia  would 
not  deign  to  accept  my  lines,  receiving  them  from  such  a 
worthless  envoy." 

But,  as  it  happened,  the  letter  had  so  far  not  reached 
the  hands  of  the  lady  for  whom  it  was  intended,  for  it 
was  only  her  waiting-maid  Lucetta  whom  Speed  had 
seen,  and  to  whom  he  had  given  the  letter  in  mistake  for 
Julia. 

Lucetta  went  in  search  of  her  mistress,  and  found  her 
in  the  garden,  musing  over  many  things,  for  by  this  time 
Julia  really  loved  Proteus,  although  she  would  not  ac- 
knowledge it  even  to  herself.  When  Lucetta  handed  her 
the  letter,  saying  she  thought  it  had  been  sent  by  Proteus, 
Julia  pretended  to  be  angry,  and  scolded  her  maid  for 
daring  to  receive  it. 

"  There,  take  the  paper  again,"  she  said,  "  and  see  that 
it  is  returned,  or  never  again  come  into  my  presence." 

"  To  plead  for  love  deserves  a  better  reward  than  to  be 
scolded,"  muttered  Lucetta. 

From  being  so  much  with  her  young  mistress,  the  maid 
was  treated  more  as  a  companion  than  as  a  servant,  ancj 

30 


"Now    let    us    take    our    Leave" 

was  accustomed  to  speak  out  her  mind  frankly  on  every 
occasion. 

"Go  !"  said  Julia  severely ;  but  no  sooner  had  Lucetta 
disappeared  than  she  was  seized  with  remorse. 

"  How  churlishly  I  sent  her  away,  when  all  the  time  I 
Ivanted  her  here  !"  she  thought.  "  How  angrily  I  tried 
to  frown,  when  really  my  heart  was  smiling  with  secret 
joy  !  To  punish  myself  I  must  call  Lucetta  back,  and 
ask  her  pardon  for  my  folly.  .  .  .     What  ho,  Lucetta  !" 

"  What  does  you  ladyship  want  ?"  asked  Lucetta,  re- 
appearing. 

But  at  the  sight  of  her  maid  Julia  suddenly  became 
shy  again. 

"  Is  it  near  dinner-time  ?"  she  asked,  with  an  air  of 
pretended  indifference. 

"  I  would  it  were,  madam,  so  that  you  might  spend 
your  anger  on  your  meat,  and  not  on  your  maid,"  replied 
Lucetta  rather  flippantly  ;  and  at  that  moment  she  let 
the  letter  fall,  and  picked  it  up  ostentatiously. 

"  What  is  it  you  took  up  so  gingerly  ?"  inquired  Julia. 

"  Nothing." 

"  Why  did  you  stoop,  then  ?" 

■^^  To  pick  up  a  paper  I  let  fall." 

"  And  is  that  paper  nothing  ?" 

'■'  Nothing  that  concerns  me." 

"  Then  let  it  lie  there  for  whom  it  does  concern." 

But  Lucetta  had  no  intention  that  the  letter  should 
lie  unheeded  on  the  ground,  for  her  only  purpose  in 
dropping  it  was  to  bring  it  again  to  Julia's  notice.  She 
little  knew  how  her  mistress  longed  at  that  moment  to 
have  it  in  her  own  possession,  but  was  too  proud  to  ac- 

31 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

knowledge  it.  Lucetta  could  not  refrain  from  some  pert 
speeches,  and  her  jesting  words  irritated  Julia,  especially 
when  Lucetta  declared  she  was  taking  the  part  of 
Proteus. 

"  I  will  have  no  more  chatter  about  this,"  said  Julia; 


\^k/^ 


c?£j 


"  Go,  get  you  gone,  and  let  the  papers  lie  !" 

and  she  tore  the  letter  and  threw  the  pieces  on  the  ground. 
"  Go,  get  you  gone,  and  let  the  papers  lie  !" 

"  She  pretends  not  to  like  it,  but  she  would  be  very 
well  pleased  to  be  so  angered  with  another  letter,''  said 
the  shrewd  maid,  half  aloud,  as  she  walked  away. 

32 


"Now    let    us    take    our    Leave" 

"  Nay,  would  I  were  so  angered  with  the  same !"  cried 
Juha,  eagerly  seizing  some  of  the  fragments.  "  O  hateful 
hands  to  tear  such  loving  words  !  I'll  kiss  each  little 
piece  of  paper  to  make  amends.  Look  !  here  is  written 
'  Kind  Julia  !'  Unkind  Julia  !  Be  calm,  good  wind  ; 
do  not  blow  any  of  the  words  away  until  I  have  found 
every  letter." 

And  with  a  loving  touch  she  began  carefully  to  collect 
the  torn  scraps  of  paper. 

"  Madam,"  said  Lucetta,  coming  back,  "  dinner  is  ready, 
and  your  father  waits." 

"  Well,  let  us  go,"  said  Julia. 

"  Are  these  papers  to  lie  here  like  tell-tales,  madam  ?" 

"  If  you  care  about  them,  you  had  better  pick  them  up." 

"  They  shall  not  stay  here,  for  fear  of  catching  cold," 
said  Lucetta,  with  a  mischievous  little  smile  to  herself. 

"  I  see  you  are  very  anxious  to  have  them,"  said  Julia. 

"  Ay,  madam,  you  may  say  what  sights  you  see,"  said 
the  maid,  quite  unabashed.  "  I  see  things,  too,  although 
you  judge  my  eyes  are  shut." 

"  Come,  come,  let  us  go,"  said  Julia. 

Proteus  had  refused  to  accompany  his  friend  Valentine, 
but  he  soon  found  that  he  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  remain 
at  Verona.  In  those  days  it  was  considered  that  no  young 
man  was  well  brought  up  unless  he  had  had  the  advantage 
of  foreign  tra^'el,  and  an  uncle  of  his  spoke  very  strongly 
on  the  subject. 

"  I  wonder  that  his  father  lets  him  spend  his  youth  at 
home,"  he  said,  "while  other  men  of  much  less  repute 
send  out  their  sons  to  seek  preferment — some  to  the  wars, 

-      33  c 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

to  try  their  fortune  there  ;  some  to  discover  islands  far 
away ;  some  to  study  at  the  universities.  For  an}^  or  for  all 
of  these  Proteus  is  fit.  It  will  be  a  great  disadvantage  to 
him  in  after-years  to  have  known  no  travel  in  his  youth." 

To  this  Proteus's  father,  Antonio,  answered  that  he  had 
already  been  thinking  over  the  matter. 

"  I  have  reflected  how  he  is  wasting  his  timxC,  and  how 
he  can  never  be  a  perfect  man  unless  he  goes  out  in  the 
world  to  learn  by  experience,"  he  said. 

And  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  could  not  do 
better  than  send  Proteus  after  Valentine,  to  the  Court  of 
the  Duke  of  Milan.  Proteus  was  ordered  to  hold  himself 
in  readiness  to  start  the  next  day,  and  all  appeals  were 
useless.  The  onl}^  consolation  he  had  in  leaving  Juha 
was  that  the  lady  now  frankly  admitted  her  love. 

**  Keep  this  remembrance  for  thy  Julia's  sake,"  she  said, 
giving  him  a  ring  when  the  moment  came  to  part. 

*'\Vhy,  then,  we'll  make  an  exchange,"  said  Proteus. 
"  Here,  take  you  this.  And  here  is  my  hand  for  my  true 
constancy.  If  ever  I  do  not  remember  you  for  a  single 
hour,  Julia,  the  next  hour  let  some  evil  mischance  torment 
me  for  my  forget  fulness." 

And  so,  with  many  protestations  of  love  and  fidelity, 
Proteus  started  to  rejoin  his  friend  Valentine  at  Milan, 
and  Julia  was  left  behind  at  Verona. 

''Who  is  Silvia?" 

Valentine  had  spoken  many  wise  words  to  Proteus  on 
the  folly  of  being  in  love,  but  he  had  not  been  long  in 
Milan  before  he  was  in  just  the  same  sad  plight  that  he 

34 


«  Who   is    Silvia? 


?5 


had  cautioned  his  friend  against.  The  Duke  of  Milan  had 
a  beautiful  daughter  called  Silvia,  and  it  was  with  her  that 
Valentine  fell  deeply  in  love.  She  returned  his  affection, 
and  they  became  secretly  betrothed,  but  they  dared  not 
let  this  be  known,  for  her  father  favoured  another  suitor, 
Sir  Thurio,  a  rich  and  well-born  gentleman,  but  foolish  and 
extremely  vain. 

The  Duke  of  Milan,  as  was  the  custom  in  those 
days,  thought  himself  at  perfect  liberty  to  dispose  of  his 
daughter  in  marriage  as  best  pleased  himself,  with  but 
scant  regard  for  her  own  feelings  on  the  subject.  He 
suspected  there  was  some  love  between  Silvia  and  Valen- 
tine, and  saw  many  little  things  when  they  thought  him 
blind.  He  often  determined  to  forbid  Valentine  his  Court 
and  his  daughter's  company,  but,  fearing  that  his  jealousy 
might  perhaps  be  leading  him  into  error,  and  that  he 
might  bring  disgrace  unworthily  upon  Valentine,  he  re- 
solved not  to  act  rashly,  but  by  gentle  means  to  try  to 
discover  the  truth.  In  the  meanwhile  he  kept  a  strict 
watch  over  Silvia,  and,  fearing  some  attempt  on  the  part 
of  the  young  lovers  to  escape  secretly,  he  gave  directions 
that  Silvia  should  be  lodged  in  an  upper  tower,  the  key 
of  which  was  brought  every  night  to  himself. 

Matters  were  in  this  state  when,  to  Valentine's  great 
joy,  Proteus  arrived  at  the  Court  of  Milan.  In  the  full 
warmth  of  his  generous  heart,  Valentine  lavished  praises 
of  his  friend  to  the  Duke  of  Milan  and  to  Silvia,  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  love  she  bore  to  Valentine  Silvia  gave 
Proteus  a  hearty  welcome. 

But  what  a  base  return  Proteus  made  for  the  kindness 
heaped  on  him  !     In  spite  of  the  devotion  which  he  had 

35  c  2 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

professed  for  Julia,  in  spite  of  his  life-long  friendship 
with  Valentine,  Proteus  no  sooner  beheld  Silvia  than 
he  imagined  himself  desperately  in  love  with  her.  All 
thought  of  loyalty  and  honour  was  recklessly  flung  aside. 
He  knew  he  was  behaving  shamefully.  He  remembered 
his  faithful  lady  in  Verona  ;  he  called  to  mind  the  duty  he 
owed  his  dear  friend  Valentine.  But  for  the  moment  his 
weak  and  selfish  nature  carried  him  beyond  control.  He 
had  no  thought  but  to  gratify  his  ov/n  desires,  and  he 
determined  to  throw  over  Julia,  and  to  win  Silvia  for 
himself  at  whatever  cost  of  treachery  and  dishonour. 

The  task  did  not  seem  an  impossible  one,  for  Valentine, 
in  the  full  glow  of  his  unsuspicious  nature,  was  ready  to 
place  unbounded  trust  in  his  friend,  and  in  this  way  he 
gave  into  his  hands  the  means  by  which  he  was  betrayed. 
He  told  Proteus  that,  unknown  to  the  Duke,  her  father, 
Silvia  and  he  were  betrothed — nay,  more,  that  the  hour 
of  their  marriage  and  the  method  of  their  flight  were 
already  arranged.  Silvia  was  locked  into  her  tower  every 
night,  but  Valentine  was  to  come  with  a  ladder  of  ropes, 
by  which  he  could  climb  up  and  help  her  to  descend. 
That  very  evening  was  fixed  for  the  carrying  out  of  their 
scheme,  and  Valentine  was  now  on  his  way  to  procure 
the  ladder  of  ropes  by  which  the  attempt  was  to  be  made. 

Proteus  listened  to  this  plot,  and  then  in  the  depths 
of  his  meanness  he  determined  to  give  Silvia's  father  notice 
of  what  was  planned,  for  he  thought  it  would  turn  out 
greatly  to  his  own  advantage  to  do  so.  Valentine  would 
be  banished,  and  the  way  would  then  be  left  open  for 
himself  to  try  to  win  Silvia.  True,  her  father  favoured 
another  suitor.  Sir  Thurio,  but  Proteus  had  little  fear  of 

36 


"Who    is    Silvia? 


35 


that  dull  gentleman,  and  he  thought  it  would  be  very 
easy  to  thwart  his  proceedings  with  some  sly  trick. 

Proteus  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out  his  scheme,  and 
it  was  immediately  successful.  With  feigned  reluctance, 
and  under  the  hypocritical  pretence  that  he  was  only  acting 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  Proteus  repeated  to  the  Duke  of 
Milan  what  Valentine  had  told  him.  He  made  the  Duke 
promise  that  he  would  not  reveal  his  treachery,  and 
pointed  out  how  he  could  easily  entrap  Valentine  as  if 
the  discovery  had  been  made  by  himself.  The  Duke 
acted  on  this  advice.  He  pretended  to  ask  Valentine's 
counsel  as  to  the  best  way  of  winning  a  lady  to  be  his 
wife,  whose  friends  kept  her  securely  shut  up.  Valentine 
at  once  suggested  the  method  of  escape  which  he  was 
hoping  to  use  in  his  own  case. 

"  A  ladder  quaintly  made  of  cords,"  he  said,  •'  with 
hooks  at  the  end,  which  you  can  throw  up,  and  by  which 
you  can  scale  the  tower." 

"  But  how  shall  I  convey  the  ladder  ?"  asked  the  Duke. 

"It  will  be  so  light,  my  lord,  that  you  can  easily  carry 
it  under  your  cloak,"  said  Valentine. 

"  Will  a  cloak  as  long  as  yours  serve  the  purpose  ?" 

"  Why,  any  cloak  will  serve,  my  lord." 

"  How  shall  I  wear  it  ?"  said  the  Duke.  "  Pray  let  me 
feel  your  cloak  upon  me." 

Valentine  could  scarcely  refuse,  and  the  next  moment 
the  Duke  had  drawn  forth  from  the  cloak  not  only  a  letter 
addressed  to  Silvia,  saying  that  Valentine  would  set  her 
free  that  night,  but  also  the  ladder  of  ropes  that  was  to  be 
used  for  that  purpose. 

Then  the  Duke's  anger  blazed  forth. 

37 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

''  Go,    base    intruder  !      Overweening    slave  !"    he    ex- 
claimed ;  and  in  words  of  the  most  contemptuous  wrath 


'■  Gu,  base  intruder  !     Overweening  slave  1" 

he  ordered  ^^alentine  to  leave  his  Court  and  his  territories, 
and  never  to  be  seen  in  them  again  on  pain  of  death. 

38 


False    to    his    Friend 


False  to  ]iis  Friend 

The  Duke  of  Milan  had  scarcely  left  Valentine,  and  the 
.after  was  still  dazed  by  the  calamity  which  had  befallen 
him,  wlien  Proteus  brought  him  word  that  the  proclama- 
tion for  his  banishment  had  been  made  public. 

Silvia,  however,  was  stih  true  to  him.  With  sobs  and 
tears,  she  implored  pardon  for  him  on  her  knees,  but  her 
father  was  relentless.  If  Valentine  were  found  again  in 
his  dominions  he  should  be  put  to  death.  Moreover,  he 
was  so  enraged  at  his  daughter's  daring  to  plead  for  her 
young  lover  that  he  commanded  she  should  be  kept  in 
close  prison. 

The  crafty  Proteus  counselled  Valentine  to  depart  at 
once,  bidding  him  not  to  lose  hope,  pretending  the  greatest 
sympathy  with  his  love  affairs,  and  promising  that  if  he 
sent  letters  they  should  be  safely  conveyed  to  Silvia. 
Having  thus  hurried  Valentine  away  with  the  utmost 
despatch,  Proteus  returned  to  the  Duke  of  Milan,  to  let 
him  know  that  his  orders  had  been  obeyed. 

"  My  daughter  is  in  great  grief  about  his  going,"  said 
the  Duke. 

"  A  little  time  will  kill  that  grief,  my  lord." 

"  So  I  believe,  but  Sir  Thurio  here  does  not  think  so," 
said  the  Duke,  and  he  then  went  on  to  consult  Proteus  as 
to  the  best  way  of  winning  Silvia's  affections  from  the 
absent  Valentine,  in  order  that  she  might  transfer  them 
to  Sir  Thurio. 

It  was  agreed  among  them  that  the  best  plan  would  be 
for  Proteus  to  speak  all  he  could  in  dispraise  of  Valentine, 

39 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

while  at  the  same  time  he  was  to  speak  in  praise  of  Sir 
Thurio.  For  this  purpose  Proteus  was  to  be  allowed  free 
access  to  Silvia,  who,  for  his  friend's  sake,  would  be  glad 
to  see  him. 

Proteus  agreed  to  this,  but  said  that  Thurio  himself 
must  do  something  to  win  the  lady's  favour.  He  sug- 
gested that  he  should  try  to  please  her  with  poetry  and 
music,  and  that  he  should  bring  musicians,  and  sing  a 
serenade  by  night  under  her  chamber  window.  Thurio 
said  he  would  put  the  plan  in  practice  that  very  night  ; 
he  knew  some  gentlemen  well  skilled  in  nmsic,  and  he  had 
a  song  written  that  would  be  just  suitable.  As  for  the 
Duke,  he  w^as  delighted  with  the  suggestion,  and  bade 
them  set  to  work  at  once  to  carry  it  into  effect. 

Meanwhile,  in  Verona,  Julia  was  sorrowing  for  the 
absence  of  Proteus,  and  at  last  her  longing  to  see  him  again 
grew  so  keen  that  she  determined  to  follow  him  to  Milan. 
Her  waiting-maid,  Lucetta,  who  had  plenty  of  shrewd 
common-sense,  tried  to  persuade  her  not  to  go,  but  Julia 
would  listen  to  no  reason. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  dying  with  starvation  until  I  see 
him  again,"  she  said.  "  If  you  only  knew  what  it  is  to 
love  anyone,  you  would  know  how  utterly  useless  it  is  to 
try  to  argue  about  it  in  words." 

As  a  young  and  beautiful  lady  travelling  alone  would 
be  hkely  to  attract  a  good  deal  of  notice,  for  safety's  sake 
Julia  decided  to  adopt  the  dress  of  a  page,  and  she  bade 
Lucetta  procure  for  her  all  that  was  necessary  to  play 
the  part  properly.  In  vain  Lucetta  tried  to  warn  her 
that  perhaps  Proteus  would  not  be  pleased  to  see  her. 

40 


^'  Alas,    poor    Lady  !" 

Many  men  were  fickle  and  changeable,  she  said  ;  they 
often  pretended  much  more  affection  than  they  really 
felt. 

Julia  indignantly  replied  that  some  men  might,  but 
not  her  Proteus.  Her  trust  in  his  fidelity  was  not  to  be 
shaken. 

"  His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  cannot  be  broken,  his 
love  is  sincere,  his  thoughts  are  stainless,  his  tears  are  pure 
messengers  straight  from  heaven,  his  heart  is  as  free  from 
fraud  as  heaven  from  earth  !"  she  cried. 

"  Pray  heaven  he  prove  so  when  you  come  to  him  !" 
said  the  shrewd  waiting-w^oman. 

So  the  faithful,  loving  Julia  set  out  on  her  journey  to 
Milan.  Alas,  poor  lady,  she  little  knew  what  a  sorry 
welcome  was  awaiting  her  ! 


"  Alas,  poor  Lady,  desolate  and  left !" 

Proteus  soon  found  that  his  scheme  for  winning  Silvia 
met  with  small  success.  He  had  already  been  false  to 
Valentine,  and  now  he  intended  to  be  false  to  Sir  Thurio  ; 
but  his  treachery  was  likely  to  be  of  little  avail.  Silvia 
was  far  too  good  and  true  to  be  corrupted  by  his  worthless 
gifts.  When  he  protested  his  loyalty  to  her,  she  twitted 
him  with  his  falsehood  to  his  absent  friend  ;  when  he 
praised  her  beauty,  she  bade  him  remember  how  he  had 
been  forsworn  in  breaking  faith  with  Julia,  whom  he 
loved.  But,  notwithstanding  all  her  rebuffs  and  rebukes, 
the  more  she  spurned  Proteus  the  greater  grew  his  admira- 
tion for  her  ;   and  though  he  knew  well  how  basely  he 

41 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

was  acting  both  to  Valentine  and  Julia,  he  had  not 
enough  strength  of  mind  to  turn  aside  from  the  tempta- 
tion. 

That  night,  in  accordance  with  what  they  had  arranged. 
Sir  Thurio  brought  a  band  of  musicians,  and  they  sang 
a  charming  serenade  outside  the  Duke  of  Milan's  palace, 
under  Silvia's  chamber.     This  is  the  pretty  song  they 

sang: 

"Who  is  Silvia?     What  is  she, 

That  all  our  swains  commend  her? 
Holy,  fair  and  wise  is  she  ; 

The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her, 
That  she  might  admired  be. 

"  Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair  ? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness. 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair, 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness. 
And,  being  help'd,  inhabits  there. 

"Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing, 

That  Silvia  is  excelling  ; 
Slie  excels  each  mortal  thing 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling  : 
To  her,  garlands  let  us  bring." 

Unknown  to  Proteus,  there  was  another  listener,  of 
whom  he  little  recked. 

Julia,  on  arriving  at  Milar,  had  made  inqui.ies  for  her 
faithless  lover,  and  the  landlord  of  the  house  where  she 
lodged  had  brought  her  to  this  spot  to  see  the  man  for 
whom  she  had  been  inquiring.  Now,  in  her  page's 
costume,  she  was  a  witness  of  her  lover's  inconstancy. 
Proteus  had  sworn  a  thousand  vows  of  love  to  her,  and 
yet  here  he  was  plainly  playing  court  to  another  lady  ! 
Poor  Julia  !     Sweet  as  the  music  was,  it  had  httle  charm 

42 


n 


Alas,    poor    Lady  ! 


for  her ;  she  heard  only  the  jarring  discord  of  her  lover's 
false  words. 

"  Doth  this  Sir  Proteus  that  we  speak  of  often  come  to 
visit  this  gentlewoman  ?"  she  asked  her  host. 

"  I  tell  you  what  Launce,  his  man,  told  me — he  loves  her 
beyond  all  measure,"  replied  the  host. 

"  Peace,  stand  aside,  they  are  going,"  said  Julia,  stepping 
further  back  into  the  shadow  ;  and  she  heard  Proteus  say  : 

*'  Sir  Thurio,  do  not  fear  ;  I  will  plead  your  cause  so 
well  that  you  will  own  my  cunning  wit  is  matchless." 

"  Where  do  we  meet  ?"  asked  Sir  Thurio,  as  he  prepared 
to  depart  with  the  musicians. 

''  At  St.  Gregory's  Well." 

"  Farewell !" 

And  Proteus  was  left  alone  as  Silvia  appeared  on  the 
balcony  of  her  window  above. 

"  Madam,  good  even  to  vour  ladyship,"  said  Proteus. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  music,  gentlemen.  Who  was 
that  who  spoke  ?" 

"  One,  lady,  whom — if  you  knew  his  true  heart — you 
would  quickly  learn  to  know  by  his  voice." 

"  Sir  Proteus,  as  I  take  it." 

"  Sir  Proteus,  gentle  lady,  and  your  servant." 

"  What  is  your  will  ?" 

"  That  I  may  fulfil  yours." 

"  You  have  your  wish.  My  will  is  this  :  that  you  inmie- 
diately  go  home  to  bed,  3/ou  subtle,  perjured,  false,  dis- 
loyal man  !  Do  you  think  I  am  so  shallow,  so  witless, 
as  to  be  won  by  your  flattery — you,  who  have  deceived 
so  many  with  your  vows  !  Return,  return,  and  make 
amends  to  your  own  lady.     As  for  me,  I  swear  by  this 

43 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

moon  that  I  am  so  far  from  granting  your  request  that 
I  despise  you  for  your  wrongful  suit,  and  could  chide 
myself  even  for  the  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  you." 

"  I  grant  that  I  did  love  a  lady,"  said  Proteus,  "  but  she 
is  dead." 

"  Supposing  that  she  is,  yet  Valentine,  your  friend,  is 
alive,  to  whom  you  yourself  are  witness  that  I  am  betrothed. 
Are  you  not  ashamed  to  wrong  him  with  this  persistency  ?" 

"  I  hear  likewise  that  Valentine  is  dead." 

"  Imagine,  then,  tliat  I  am  also  dead ;  'for,  be  assured, 
my  love  is  buried  in  his  grave." 

''  Sweet  lady,  let  me  take  it  from  the  earth." 

"  Go  to  your  own  lady's  grave,  and  call  her  love  thence, 
or,  at  least,  bury  your  own  in  hers." 

"  Madam,  if  your  heart  is  so  pitiless,  yet  grant  me 
your  picture,  for  the  sake  of  my  love.  For  since  you 
yourself  are  devoted  elsew^here,  I  am  but  a  shadow,  and 
to  your  shadow  will  I  give  my  love." 

"  I  am  very  loath  to  be  your  idol,  sir,  but  since  it 
suits  your  falsehood  to  admire  shadows,  send  to  me  in 
the  morning,  and  I  will  send  the  picture.  And  so,  good 
rest  !" 

"  As  wretches  have  overnight  who  wait  for  execution 
in  the  morning,"  said  Proteus. 

Poor  Julia  overheard  all  this  conversation  between  her 
faithless  suitor  and  the  lady  Silvia.  It  was  impossible 
to  doubt  his  falsehood  any  longer,  yet  so  true  and  loving 
was  her  nature  that  she  could  not  harden  her  heart  to  go 
away  and  never  see  him  again.  As  it  happened.  Sir 
Proteus  was  staying  at  the  very  house  in  Milan  where  she 
had  found  a  lodging.     His  thoughts  just  then  were  entirely 

44 


What    befell    in    the    Forest 

absorbed  with  his  latest  fancy,  and  it  never  occurred  to 
him  to  connect  the  stranger  lad,  who  called  himself 
Sebastian,  with  his  own  lady  Julia  at  Verona.  But 
something  about  the  pretty  boy  attracted  his  liking. 
Proteus's  servant  Launce  was  a  silly  clown,  whose  half- 
witted blunders  were  always  bringing  his  master  into 
ridicule,  and,  judging  from  Sebastian's  face  and  bearing 
that  he  was  well-born  and  trustworthy,  Proteus  took  him 
into  his  service  as  page. 

What  befell  in  the  Forest 

Those  were  dark  days  for  the  lady  Silvia  :  her  lover 
Valentine  banished,  she  herself  kept  in  close  imprison- 
ment b}/  her  angry  and  tyrannical  father,  threatened  with 
marriage  to  a  suitor  whom  she  hated  and  despised.  What 
prospect  of  release  could  she  look  forward  to  ? 

But  she  was  not  without  courage,  and  she  was  not 
without  hope. 

At  the  Court  of  Milan  there  was  one  friend  on  whom 
she  could  rely — the  kind  Sir  Eglamour,  a  gentleman, 
valiant,  wise,  compassionate,  well-accomplished ;  one 
who  had  himself  known  sorrow,  for  his  lady  and  true 
love  had  died,  and  his  heart  still  mourned  her  memory. 

Silvia  told  this  gentleman  that  she  was  anxious  to  go 
to  Valentine — to  Mantua — where  she  had  heard  he  was 
staying,  and  because  the  ways  were  dangerous  she  begged 
him  to  accompany  her,  in  whose  faith  and  honour  she 
trusted.  Pitying  her  distress,  and  knowing  that  the 
Duke  was  acting  cruelly  in  trying  to  force  his  daughter 
into  an  unworthy  marriage.  Sir  EglamxOur  willingly  agreed, 
and  it  was  arranged  they  should  start  that  evening. 

45 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

Sir  Eglamour  had  scarcely  left  Silvia,  when  the  messen- 
ger arrived  from  Proteus  to  claim  the  portrait  which 
Silvia  had  promised.  And  who  should  Proteus  have 
chosen  for  this  errand  but  his  new  young  page,  Sebastian, 
whom  he  little  thought  was  his  own  dear  lady  Julia  in 
disguise.  Not  only  this,  but  he  also  entrusted  a  ring  to 
Sebastian  to  give  to  Silvia,  and  this  ring  was  no  other  than 
the  one  which  Julia  had  given  to  him  when  they  parted, 
and  which  he  had  received  with  so  many  protestations  of 
affection  and  vows  of  fidelity. 

Julia,  or  Sebastian,  as  we  ought  now  to  call  her,  was 
nearly  heart-broken  at  the  task  imposed  on  her,  but  she 
carried  it  through  faithfully.  And  in  one  way  she  met 
with  her  reward.  For  the  noble  lady  Silvia  showed  no 
pleasure  at  this  proof  of  Proteus's  affection,  only  scorn 
and  indignation  at  his  treachery  to  his  own  love.  She 
gave  her  portrait,  as  she  had  promised  it,  but  she  tore 
up  his  letter  in  contempt,  without  even  reading  it ;  and 
as  for  the  ring,  she  refused  to  accept  it. 

"  Madam,  he  sends  your  ladyship  this  ring,"  said  the 
pretty  lad  Sebastian. 

"  The  more  shame  for  him  that  he  sends  it  me  !"  said 
Silvia  warmly.  "  For  I  have  heard  him  say  a  thousand 
times  that  Julia  gave  it  him  at  his  departure.  Though 
his  false  finger  have  profaned  the  ring,  mine  shall  never 
do  his  Julia  so  much  wrong,"  she  declared. 

Julia  was  deeply  touched  and  grateful  at  Silvia's 
generous  sympathy,  and  still  more  so  when  the  lady  went 
on  to  question  her  about  Julia,  and  to  say  how  much 
she  felt  for  her  and  pitied  her. 

"  Alas,  poor  lady,  desolate  and  left !     I  could  weep  for 

46 


What    befell    in    the    Forest 

her,"  she  said.  "  Here,  youth,  there  is  my  purse.  1  give 
you  this  for  your  sweet  mistress's  sake,  because  you  love 
her.     Farewell  !" 

"  And  she  shall  thank  you  for  it  if  ever  you  know  her," 
cried  Julia,  as  Silvia  retired  with  her  attendants.  "  A 
virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild  and  beautiful  !  I  hope  my 
master's  suit  will  be  but  cold,  since  she  respects  my 
mistress's  love  so  nmch." 

And  somewhat  comforted  she  returned  to  Proteus. 

Silvia  fled  that  night,  as  she  had  arranged  with  Sir 
Eglamour.  The  news  soon  reached  her  father's  ears,  and 
he  immediately  set  out  in  pursuit  of  her,  the  party  also 
including  Sir  Thurio,  Proteus,  and  Sebastian.  But  in 
crossing  a  dangerous  forest  Sir  Eglamour  and  Silvia  had 
been  seized  by  a  band  of  outlaws.  Sir  Eglamour  contrived 
to  make  his  escape,  but  the  outlaws  were  conveying  Silvia 
to  their  chief,  when  Proteus  came  up  with  them  and  with 
some  difficulty  rescued  their  captive. 

Now,  the  captain  of  these  outlaws  was  no  other  than 
Valentine.  On  his  way  to  Mantua  he  had  been  taken 
prisoner  by  the  band,  who,  seeing  that  he  was  a  brave 
and  accomplished  gentleman,  had  begged  him  to  be  their 
chief.  Finding  that  they  were  not  really  bad  men,  but 
had  been  driven  to  this  method  of  life  by  reckless  be- 
haviour in  their  youth,  which  had  caused  them  to  be 
banished  from  Milan,  Valentine  consented. 

"  I  accept  your  offer,  and  will  live  with  you,"  he  said, 
"  provided  that  you  do  no  harm  to  women  or  poor 
travellers." 

''  No  ;  we  detest  such  vile  practices,"  said  one  of  the 

47 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Verona 

outlaws.  "  Come,  go  with  us.  We  will  take  you  to  the 
rest  of  our  crew,  and  show  you  all  the  treasure  we  have 
got,  and  everything  shall  be  at  your  disposal." 

On  the  day  when  the  adventure  occurred  to  Sir 
Eglamour  and  Silvia,  Valentine  happened  to  be  alone, 
when,  unseen  by  them  in  the  thickness  of  the  forest,  he 
saw  Proteus  approaching  with  Silvia  and  the  little  page 
Sebastian. 

•'  Madam,"  he  heard  Proteus  say,  "  I  have  done  this 
service  for  you  and  risked  my  life,  though  you  do  not 
respect  anything  that  your  servant  does.  Grant  me  but 
a  kind  look  for  my  reward.  I  cannot  ask  a  smaller  boon 
than  that,  and  less  than  that  I  am  sure  you  cannot  give." 

"  This  is  like  a  dream  !"  thought  Valentine,  aghast  at 
his  friend's  treachery.  But  he  tried  to  wait  patiently  for 
a  few  minutes  to  see  what  would  happen. 

"  Oh,  miserable,  unhappy  that  I  am,"  sighed  Silvia. 

''  And  I  too  !"  murmured  the  poor  little  page,  apart. 

"  Had  I  been  seized  by  a  hungry  lion,  I  would  rather 
have  been  a  breakfast  to  the  beast  than  have  false  Proteus 
rescue  me  !"  cried  Silvia.  "  Oh,  heaven,  be  judge  how  I 
love  Valentine,  whose  life  is  as  dear  to  me  as  my  soul  ! 
And  just  as  much — for  it  cannot  be  mx-re — do  I  detest 
false,  perjured  Proteus  !  Therefore  begone  ;  entreat  me 
no  more." 

Seeing  there  was  no  chance  of  winning  Silvia  by  fair 
words,  Proteus,  in  a  rage,  seized  hold  of  her  roughly, 
whereupon  Valentine  sprang  forth  and  struck  him  back. 

"  Ruffian,  let  go  that  rude,  uncivil  touch  !  Thou  evil- 
fashioned  friend  /" 

'Valentine  I" 

48 


a, 
o 


What    befell    in    tne    Forest 

"  You  miserable  friend,  without  faith  or  love  !"  continued 
Valentine,  hurling  his  scorn  on  the  convicted  traitor. 
"  Treacherous  man  !  Thou  hast  beguiled  my  hopes  ! 
Nothing  but  my  own  eyes  would  have  niade  me  believe 
what  I  see.  Now  I  dare  not  say  I  have  one  living  friend, 
— whom  could  I  trust,  when  the  one  nearest  my  heart 
is  perjured  ?  Proteus,  I  am  sorry  I  must  never  trust 
thee  more,  but  for  thy  sake  count  the  whole  world  a 
stranger.  Alas,  that  amongst  all  foes  a  friend  should  be 
the  worst  !" 

Proteus's  easily-moved  nature  was  struck  to  the  heart 
by  Valentine's  just  reproaches.  With  deepest  remorse, 
he  implored  Valentine's  pardon,  and  so  noble  and  generous 
was  Valentine  that  he  forgave  him  on  the  spot.  Nay, 
more,  in  the  impulse  of  the  moment  he  even  offered  to 
resign  his  own  claim  on  Silvia.  The  thought  that  Proteus 
would  now  really  be  lost  to  her  for  ever,  struck  Julia  like 
a  blow,  and  she  fell  fainting  to  the  ground. 

"  Look  to  the  boy,"  said  Proteus. 

''  Why,  boy,  how  now  ?  What's  the  matter  ?  Look 
up  !     Speak  !"  said  Valentine. 

"  Oh,  good  sir,  my  master  charged  me  to  deliver  a  ring 
to  Madam  Silvia,  which  because  of  my  neglect  was  never 
done,"  said  Juha,  in  her  guise  of  the  httle  page. 

''  Where  is  that  ring,  boy  ?"  asked  Proteus. 

"  Here  it  is— this  is  it." 

"  How  ?  Let  me  see.  Why,  this  is  the  ring  I  gave  to 
Julia." 

"  Oh,  cry  you  mercy,  sir,  I  have  made  a  mistake,"  said 
Julia,  pretending  to  discover  her  error,  and  holding  out 
another  one.     "  This  is  the  ring  you  sent  to  Silvia." 

51  D  2 


Two    Gentlemen    of   Vero'^a 

"  But  how  did  you  come  by  this  ring  ?"  asked  Proteus, 
looking  at  the  first  one.  "When  I  left  Verona  I  ga\e  this 
to  Julia." 

"  And  Julia  herself  gave  it  to  nie,  and  Julia  herself  has 
brought  it  here." 

"  How  ?     Julia  !" 

"  Behold  her  to  whom  you  swore  so  many  vows,  and 
who  kept  them  tenderly  in  her  heart  !  How  often  have 
you  perjured  yourself  !"  cried  Julia,  throwing  off  her  dis- 
guise. "  Oh,  Proteus,  let  these  clothes  make  you  blush  ! 
Are  you  ashamed  that  I  have  put  on  the  raiment  of  a  boy  ? 
I  tell  you,  it  is  less  shameful  for  women  to  change  their 
guise  than  men  their  minds  !" 

"  Than  men  their  minds  !"  echoed  the  conscience- 
stricken  Proteus.     "  That  is  true." 

"  Come,  come,  give  me  each  your  hand,"  interposed 
Valentine.  "  Let  me  be  blest  in  making  a  happy  ending. 
It  were  pit}^  that  two  such  friends  should  be  long  foes." 

"  Bear  witness.  Heaven,  I  have  my  wish  for  ever  !"  said 
Proteus  solemnly. 

"  And  I  mine,"  said  Julia. 

And  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  this  time  the  fickle  gentleman 
kept  faithful  to  his  lady. 

Matters  had  scarcely  come  to  this  happy  conclusion, 
when  the  outlaws  approached,  bringing  as  captives  the 
Duke  of  Milan  and  Sir  Thurio. 

"  A  prize  !  a  prize  !  a  prize  !"  shouted  the  outlaws. 

"  Forbear,  forbear,  I  say  !  It  is  my  lord,  the  Duke  of 
Milan,"  said  Valentine.  "Your  Grace  is  welcome  to  a 
man  disgraced,"  he  added  courteously. 

52 


What    befell    in    the    Forest 

"  Sir  Valentine  !" 

"  Yonder  is  Silvia,  and  Silvia's  mine  !"  interrupted  Sir 
Thurio,  pressing  rudely  forward. 

''  Stand  back  !'  commanded  Valentine.  "  Come  near, 
at  your  peril  !  Do  not  dare  to  call  Silvia  yours  !  Here 
she  stands  :  I  dare  you  to  touch  her,  or  even  to  come  near." 

"  Sir  Valentine,  I  care  not  for  her — I  !"  said  Thurio, 
quite  cowed.  "  I  hold  him  but  a  fool  who  will  endanger 
himself  for  a  girl  who  does  not  love  him.  I  claim  her 
not,  and  therefore  she  is  yours." 

"  The  more  base  of  you  to  act  as  you  have  done,  and 
then  to  leave  her  on  such  slight  excuse  !"  said  the  Duke 
indignantlv.  "  Now,  by  the  honour  of  my  ancestry,  I 
applaud  your  spirit,  Valentine  ;  you  are  worthy  of  an 
Empress's  love.  Know,  then,  I  cancel  here  all  that  has 
passed,  and  summon  you  home  again  Sir  Valentine,  you 
are  a  gentleman.  Take  you  your  Silvia,  for  you  have 
deserved  her." 

"  I  thank  your  Grace  ;  the  gift  has  made  me  happy.  I 
now  beg  you,  for  your  daughter's  sake,  to  grant  one  boon 
that  I  shall  ask  of  you." 

"  I  grant  it  you  for  your  own,  whatever  it  be,"  said  the 
Duke. 

Then  Valentine  begged  him  to  pardon  the  band  of  out- 
laws and  recall  them  from  exile. 

"  They  are  reformed,  civil,  full  of  good,  and  fit  for  great 
employment,"  he  said. 

The  Duke  willingly  granted  his  pardon,  and  then  the 
whole  party  returned  happily  to  Milan,  where  the  same 
day  wedding  feasts  were  appointed  for  the  two  marriages 
— Valentine  with  Silvia,  and  Proteus  with  Julia. 

53 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 


"  Dear  Lady  Disdain  " 


HERE  was  rejoicing  in  Messina,  for  the 
war    was    over,    and  Don    Pedro,   the 
victorious  Prince  of  Arragon,  was  re- 
turning in  triumph.     Tidings  were  sent 
to   Leonato,   the   Governor,   to  expect 
his    speedy   approach ;     and    Leonato 
himself,  with  his  daughter  Hero  and  his 
niece  Beatrice,    received    the    Prince's    messenger,     and 
questioned  him  eagerly  as  to  the  welfare  of  their  friends. 
"  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in  this  action  ?" 
inquired  Leonato. 

"  But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name,"  replied  the 
messenger. 

"  I   find  in  this  letter  that  Don  Pedro  has  bestowed 

54 


^^  Dear    Lady    Disdain'* 

much  honour  on  a  young  Florentine  called  Claudio," 
said  Leonato. 

"  Much  deserved  on  his  part  and  equally  remembered 
by  Don  Pedro,"  answered  the  messenger.  "  He  has 
indeed  borne  himself  gallantly,  doing  in  the  figure  of  a 
lamb  the  feats  of  a  lion." 

When  she  heard  this  outspoken  praise  of  the  young 
Florentine,  Hero,  the  Governor's  daughter,  felt  a  warm 
thrill  of  joy,  but  she  only  smiled  and  blushed  with  pleasure. 

"  I  pray  you,"  put  in  Beatrice,  the  Governor's  niece, 
who  lived  in  her  uncle's  house,  and  was  the  dear  com- 
panion of  his  only  daughter,  "  is  Signor  Mountanto  re- 
turned from  the  wars  or  no  ?" 

"  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady,"  said  the  messenger, 
looking  rather  puzzled  ;  "  there  was  none  such  in  the 
army  of  any  sort." 

"  Who  is  he  that  you  ask  for  niece  ?" 

"  My  cousin  means  Signor  Benedick  of  Padua,"  ex- 
plained Hero. 

"  Oh,  he  has  returned,  and  as  pleasant  as  ever  he  was," 
said  the  messenger. 

"  I  pray  you,  how  many  has  he  killed  and  eaten  in  these 
wars  ?"  said  Beatrice  mockingly.  "  But  no,  how  many  has 
he  killed  ?    For,  indeed,  /  promised  to  eat  all  of  his  killing." 

"  Faith,  niece,  you  are  too  hard  on  Signor  Benedick,"  said 
Leonato.     "  But  he  will  be  even  with  you,  I  do  not  doubt." 

"  He  has  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these  wars,"  said 
the  messenger ;  and  then  he  went  on  to  praise  warmly  the 
valour  and  noble  qualities  of  the  young  lord  ;  but  Beatrice 
would  do  nothing  but  laugh  and  mock  at  all  he  said. 

"  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece,"  said  Leonato  at 

55 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

last.  "  There  is  a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  Signor 
Benedick  and  her  ;  they  never  meet  but  there  is  a  skir- 
mish of  wit  between  them." 

While  they  were  still  speaking,  the  Prince  of  Arragon, 
with  his  train  of  noble  gentlemen,  arrived.  Leonato 
welcomed  them  most  warmly.  Count  Claudio  and  Signor 
Benedick  were  old  friends,  and  had  previously  stayed  at 
the  Governor's  palace  ;  indeed,  before  starting  for  the 
wars  Claudio  had  looked  with  more  than  an  eye  of  favour 
on  the  gentle  lady  Hero.  As  for  Beatrice  and  Benedick, 
they  pretended  to  have  a  great  aversion  to  each  other, 
but,  strange  to  say,  instead  of  avoiding  each  other's 
society,  they  seemed  to  delight  in  seizing  every  oppor- 
tunity to  plague  and  tease  each  other  as  much  as  possible. 

On  the  present  occasion  Beatrice  had  not  long  to  wait, 
and  on  Benedick's  making  some  jesting  remark  to  Don 
Pedro  and  Leonato,  she  plunged  into  the  fray. 

"  I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking,  Signor  Bene- 
dick ;  nobod}^  marks  you." 

"What,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain  !  Are  you  yet  living  ?" 
retorted  Benedick. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  Disdain  should  die  while  she  has  such 
meet  food  to  feed  it  as  Signor  Benedick  ?  Courtesy  her- 
self must  turn  into  disdain  if  you  come  into  her  presence." 

"  Then  is  Courtesy  a  turncoat.  But  it  is  certain  I  am 
loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted  ;  and  I  would  I 
could  find  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not  a  hard  heart,  for 
truly  I  love  none,"  remarked  Benedick  in  a  lofty  manner. 

"  That  is  very  happy  for  women  ;  they  would  other- 
wise have  been  troubled  with  a  most  annoying  suitor," 
said  Beatrice.     "  Thank  Heaven,  I  am  like  you  in  that 

56 


^'  Dear    Lady    Disdain  " 

respect  ;  I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow  than 
a  man  swear  he  loves  me." 

"  Heaven  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind  !" 
said  the  young  lord  devoutly.  "  So  some  gentleman  or 
another  shall  escape  injury." 

It  was  all  very  well  for  Benedick  to  scoff  at  love,  but 
the  young  Count  Claudio  was  of  a  different  nature.  Im- 
pulsive and  passionate,  he  was  not  ashamed  to  own  his 
love  for  the  lady  Hero,  and  with  the  sympathetic  help 
of  the  Prince  of  Arragon  he  speedily  won  the  lady's 
consent  and  her  father's  approval.  The  wedding-da}^ 
was  fixed  for  a  week  later,  and  the  only  trial  the  impatient 
young  lover  had  to  endure  was  the  time  that  must  elapse 
before  the  marriage. 

Benedick,  of  course,  did  not  spare  his  raillery  on  this 
occasion,  and  he  laughed  with  the  utmost  scorn  when  Don 
Pedro  and  Claudio  declared  that  his  own  turn  would  come. 

"  I  shall  see  you,  before  I  die,  look  pale  with  love,"  said 
Don  Pedro. 

"  With  anger,  with  sickness,  with  hunger,  my  lord,  but 
never  with  love,"  declared  Benedick. 

"  Well,  if  ever  you  fall  from  this  faith  you  will  prove  a 
notable  argument." 

"  If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  and  shoot  at  me,"  laughed 
Benedick. 

"  Well,  as  time  shall  try.  '  In  time  the  savage  bull 
doth  bear  the  yoke,'  "  quoted  Don  Pedro. 

"  The  savage  bull  may,  but  if  ever  the  sensible  Benedick 
bear  it,  pluck  off  the  bull's  horns,  and  set  them  in  my 
forehead  ;  and  let  me  be  vilely  painted,  and  in  such  great 

57 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

letters  as  they  write  '  Here  is  good  horse  to  hire,'  let  them 
signify  under  my  sign,  '  Here  you  may  see  Benedick  the 
married  man  !'  " 

Benedick's  self-assured  declaration  that  he  never  in- 
tended to  fall  in  love  or  get  married,  and  Beatrice's  equal 
scorn  on  the  same  subject,  put  a  mischievous  idea  into 
Don  Pedro's  head,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  week 
which  had  to  elapse  before  the  wedding  might  be  most 
amusingly  occupied. 

"  I  will  warrant  that  the  time  shall  not  pass  dully,"  he 
said  to  Leonato  and  Claudio.  "  I  will  in  the  meanwhile 
undertake  one  of  Hercules'  labours,  which  is  to  bring 
Signor  Benedick  and  the  Lady  Beatrice  into  a  mountain 
of  affection  one  for  the  other.  I  would  fain  have  it  a 
match,  and  I  do  not  doubt  of  bringing  it  about,  if  you 
three  will  but  help  me  in  the  way  I  point  out." 

"  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me  ten  nights' 
watching,"  said  Leonato. 

"  And  I,  my  lord,"  said  Claudio. 

"  I  will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to  help  my  cousin 
to  a  good  husband,"  said  the  gentle  Hero. 

"  And  Benedick  is  not  the  least  hopeful  husband  I 
know,"  said  the  Prince.  "  Thus  far  I  can  praise  him  : 
he  is  of  noble  race,  of  approved  valour,  and  of  steadfast 
honesty.  I  will  teach  you  how  to  humour  your  cousin 
that  she  shall  fall  in  love  with  Benedick,  and  I,  with  the 
help  of  Leonato  and  Claudio,  will  so  practise  on  Benedick 
that,  in  spite  of  his  quick  wit  and  fastidious  temper,  he 
shall  fall  in  love  with  Beatrice.  If  we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is 
no  longer  an  archer  ;  his  glory  shall  be  ours,  for  we  are  the 
only  love-gods !  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  my  plan." 

58 


A    Plain-dealing    Villain 

A  Plain-dealing  Villain 

Now,  among  the  gentlemen  in  the  Prince  of  Arragon's 
train  there  was  one  of  a  very  different  nature  from  Claudio 
and  Benedick.  This  was  Don  John,  a  half-brother  of 
the  Prince,  and  a  man  of  sullen,  envious,  and  malicious 
temper.  He  was  spiteful  to  all  the  world,  but  in  especial 
he  hated  his  half-brother,  and  he  bore  a  furious  grudge 
against  the  young  Florentine  lord  Claudio,  because  the 
latter  stood  high  in  the  favour  of  the  Prince  of  Arragon. 
Don  John  had  long  sullenly  opposed  his  brother,  and  had 
only  lately  been  taken  into  favour  again.  It  now  only 
depended  on  his  own  behaviour  as  to  whether  he  should 
go  on  and  prosper,  or  whether  he  should  fall  again  into 
disgrace.  But  Don  John  had  no  intention  of  acting 
more  amiably  than  he  could  possibly  help.  His  followers, 
Borachio  and  Conrade,  urged  him  to  conceal  his  feelings, 
and  to  bear  a  more  cheerful  countenance  among  the 
general  rejoicings,  but  Don  John  flatly  refused. 

"  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge  than  a  rose  in 
my  brother's  grace,"  he  said  sullenly.  "  It  better  fits 
my  humour  to  be  disdained  of  all  than  to  fashion  a 
behaviour  to  rob  love  from  any.  In  this,  though  I  cannot 
be  said  to  be  a  flattering,  honest  man,  it  must  not  be 
denied  that  I  am  a  plain-dealing  villain.  I  am  trusted, — 
with  a  muzzle;  and  set  free, — with  a  clog;  therefore  I  have 
determined  not  to  sing  in  my  cage.  If  I  had  my  mouth 
I  would  bite,  if  I  had  my  liberty  I  should  do  my  liking  ; 
in  the  meantime  let  me  be  what  I  am,  and  do  not  seek  to 
alter  me." 

The  news  that  the  gallant  young  Claudio  was  to  wed 

59 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

the  daughter  of  the  Governor  of  Messina  put  Don  John 
into  a  fresh  fury. 

"  That  young  start-up  has  all  the  glory  of  my  over- 
throw," he  declared.  "  If  I  can  cross  him  i:?.  any  way,  I 
shall  only  be  too  dehghted." 

His  two  men,  Borachio  and  Conrade,  who  were  as 
evil-natured  as  their  master,  promised  to  help  him  in 
any  scheme  of  vengeance  he  could  devise,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  Borachio  came  to  him  and  said  that  he  had 
found  a  way  to  cross  Count  Claudio's  marriage. 

"  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  hindrance,  will  do  me  good," 
said  Don  John.  "  I  am  sick  with  displeasure,  and  what- 
soever comes  athwart  his  desire  will  go  evenly  with  mine. 
How  can  you  cross  this  marriage  ?" 

"  Not  honestly,  my  lord,  but  so  secretly  that  no  dis- 
honesty shall  appear  in  me." 

"  Show  me  briefly  how." 

"  I  think  I  told  your  lordship  a  year  since  how  much  I  am 
in  favour  with  Margaret,  the  waiting  gentlewoman  to  Hero." 

"  I  remember." 

"  I  can  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the  night  appoint 
her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  chamber  window." 

"  What  good  will  that  be  to  put  an  end  to  the  marriage  ?" 

"  The  poison  of  it  lies  with  you  to  mix.  Go  to  the 
Prince  your  brother,  tell  him  he  has  wronged  his  honour 
in  allowing  the  renowned  Claudio — whom  you  must 
praise  warmly — to  marry  p.  lady  like  Hero,  who  has 
already  another  lover." 

"  What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that  ?" 

"  Proof  enough  to  hurt  the  Prince,  to  vex  Claudio,  to  ruin 
Hero,  and  to  kill  Leonato .   Do  you  look  for  any  other  result  ? ' ' 

60 


^^  Cupid's    Crafty    Arrow" 

"  I  will  do  anything  only  to  spite  them." 

"  Go,  then,  find  a  fitting  hour  when  Don  Pedro  and 
Count  Claudio  are  alone,  and  tell  them  that  you  know 
Hero  loves  me,"  said  the  wicked  Borachio.  "  They  will 
scarcely  believe  this  without  proof.  Offer  them  the  oppor- 
tunity to  test  the  truth  of  your  words.  Bring  them 
outside  Leonato's  house  the  night  before  the  wedding  ; 
and  in  the  meanwhile  I  will  so  fashion  the  matter  that 
they  shall  see  Margaret  speak  to  me  out  of  the  window, 
they  shall  hear  me  call  her  '  Hero,'  and  there  shall  appear 
such  seeming  truth  of  Hero's  disloyalty  that  Claudio  in 
his  jealousy  will  feel  quite  assured  of  it,  and  all  the 
preparations  for  the  wedding  shall  be  overthrown." 

"  Let  the  issue  of  this  be  what  it  may,  I  will  put  it  in 
practice,"  said  Don  John.  ''  Be  cunning  in  working  this, 
and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats." 

"  You  be  steady  in  the  accusation,  and  my  cunning 
shall  not  shame  me,"  was  Borachio's  response. 


''  Cupid's  Crafty  Arrow  " 

Benedick  was  strolling  alone  in  Leonato's  orchard,  and 
as  he  went  he  mused  to  himself. 

"  I  do  wonder,"  he  thought,  "  that  one  man,  seeing 
how  much  another  man  is  a  fool  when  he  is  in  love,  after 
he  has  laughed  at  such  shallow  follies  in  others,  will 
himself  become  the  object  of  his  own  scorn  by  falling 
in  love  ;  and  such  a  man  is  Claudio.  I  have  known 
when  there  was  no  music  with  him  but  the  drum  and  the 
fife,  and  now  he  had  rather  hear  the  tabor  and  the  pipe. 
I  have  known  when  he  would  have  walked  ten  miles  on 

6i 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

foot  to  see  a  good  armour,  and  now  will  he  lie  ten  nights 
awake,  carving  the  fashion  of  a  new  doublet.  He  was 
wont  to  speak  plain  and  to  the  purpose,  like  an  honest 
man  and  a  soldier  ;  and  now  his  words  are  a  very  fan- 
tastical banquet,  just  so  many  strange  dishes.  Shall  I 
ever  be  so  converted,  and  see  with  those  eyes  ?  I  cannot 
tell.  I  think  not.  I  will  not  be  sworn  that  love  may 
not  transform  me  to  an  oyster,  but  I'll  take  my  oath  on  it, 
till  he  have  made  an  oyster  of  me,  he  shall  never  make 
me  such  a  fool.  One  woman  is  fair,  yet  I  am  well ; 
another  is  wise,  yet  I  am  well ;  another  virtuous,  yet  I 
am  well  ;  but  till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman  one  woman 
shall  not  come  in  my  grace.  Rich  she  shall  be — that's 
certain  ;  wise  and  virtuous,  or  I'll  have  none  of  her  ; 
fair,  or  I'll  never  look  on  her  ;  mild,  or  come  not  near  me  ; 
noble,  or  not  I  for  an  angel  ;  of  good  discourse,  an  excel- 
lent musician,  and  her  hair — her  hair  shall  be  of  what 
colour  it  pleases  God.  .  .  .  Ha  !  the  Prince  and  Monsieur 
Love.     I  will  hide  me  in  the  arbour." 

And  Benedick  hastily  concealed  himself,  as  Don  Pedro, 
Claudio,  and  Leonato  approached,  followed  by  some 
musicians. 

"  Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music  ?"  said  Don  Pedro, 
seating  himself  on  a  bench  within  earshot  of  the  arbour. 
"  See  you  where  Benedick  has  hidden  himself  ?"  he  added 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  my  lord,"  answered  Claudio.  "  When 
the  music  is  ended,  we  will  give  him  something  to  think 
about." 

"  Come,  Balthasar,  we'll  hear  that  song  again,"  said 
Don  Pedro. 

6? 


^^  Cupid's    Crafty    Arrow" 

vSo  the  musicians  lightly  touched  the  strings  of  their 
instruments,  and  Balthasar  began  his  song  : 

"  Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever. 
One  foot  in  sea,  and  one  on  shore, 

To  one  thing  constant  never  : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go, 

And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny, 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 

Into  Hey  nonny,  nonny  ! 

"  Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  moe, 

Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy  ; 
The  fraud  of  man  was  ever  so. 

Since  summer  first  was  leafy  : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go. 

And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny, 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 

Into  Hey  nonny,  nonny  !" 

"  By  my  troth,  a  good  song  !"  said  the  Prince.  "  Bal- 
thasar, I  pray  you  get  us  some  excellent  music,  for  to- 
morrow night  we  would  have  it  at  the  lady  Hero's 
chamber- window." 

"  The  best  I  can,  my  lord." 

"  Do  so ;  farewell.  .  .  .  Come  hither,  Leonato,"  said 
Don  Pedro,  when  the  young  musician  had  retired.  "  What 
was  it  that  you  told  me  of  to-day — that  your  niece 
Beatrice  was  in  love  with  Signor  Benedick  ?" 

"Go  on,"  whispered  Claudio.  "We  shall  catch  our 
bird.  I  did  never  think  that  lady  would  have  loved  any 
man,"  he  added  aloud,  for  Benedick's  benefit. 

"  No,  nor  I  neither,"  said  Leonato  ;  "  but  it  is  most 
wonderful  that  she  should  so  doat  on  Signor  Benedick,  whom 
she  has  in  all  outward  behaviour  always  seemed  to  abhor." 

63 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

"Is  it  possible  ?  Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner  r' 
murmured  the  astonished  Benedick  in  his  hiding-place. 

"  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what  to  think 
of  it,  but  that  she  loves  him  frantically,"  continued 
Leonato.     "  It  is  past  the  bounds  of  belief." 

"  Has  she  made  her  affection  known  to  Benedick  ?" 
asked  Don  Pedro. 

"  No,  and  swears  she  never  will  ;  that  is  the  cause  of 
her  unhappiness." 

"  'Tis  true  indeed,"  put  in  Claudio.  "  '  Shall  I,'  says 
she,  '  that  have  so  often  encountered  him  with  scorn,  write 
to  him  that  I  love  him  ?'  " 

"  '  I  measure  him  by  my  own  spirit,'  she  says,"  con- 
tinued Leonato,  '*  '  for  I  should  flout  him  if  he  wrote  to 
me — yea,  though  I  love  him,  I  should.'  " 

"  And  then  she  weeps  and  sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears 
her  hair,"  said  Claudio. 

"  My  daughter  is  sometimes  afraid  she  will  do  a  aes- 
perate  outrage  to  herself,"  said  Leonato. 

"  It  were  good  if  Benedick  knew  it  from  someone  else, 
if  she  will  not  reveal  it,"  said  Don  Pedro 

"  To  what  end  ?"  asked  Claudio.  "  He  would  make 
but  a  sport  of  it,  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse." 

"If  he  did  it  would  be  a  charity  to  hang  him,"  said 
Don  Pedro  indignantly.    "  vShe  is  an  excellent,  sweet  lady." 

"  And  she  is  exceedingly  wise,"  put  in  Claudio. 

"  In  everything  but  in  loving  Benedick,"  said  Don 
Pedro. 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  I  am  sorry  for  her,  as  I  have  just  cause, 
being  her  uncle  and  her  guardian,"  said  Leonato. 

"  I  would  she  had  bestowed  this  affection  on  me/' 

64 


"Cupid's    Crafty    Arrow" 

said  Don  Pedro.  ''  I  would  marry  her  at  once.  Well, 
Leonato,  I  am  sorry  for  your  niece.  I  pray  you  tell 
Benedick  of  it,  and  hear  what  he  will  say." 

"  Never  tell  him,  my  lord,"  said  Claudio.  "  Let  her 
wear  out  her  affection  with  good  counsel." 

"  Nay,  that's  impossible,"  said  Leonato  ;  "  she  may 
wear  her  heart  out  first." 

"  Well,  we  will  hear  further  of  it  from  your  daughter," 
said  Don  Pedro.  "  I  love  Benedick  well,  and  I  could 
wish  he  would  modestly  examine  himself  to  see  how  much 
he  is  unworthy  so  good  a  lady." 

"  My  lord,  will  you  walk  ?  Dinner  is  ready,"  said 
Leonato. 

"If  he  do  not  doat  on  her  after  this,  I  will  never  trust 
my  expectation,"  laughed  Claudio,  as  the  conspirators 
withdrew. 

"  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for  Beatrice,"  said 
Don  Pedro,  "  and  that  your  daughter  and  her  gentle- 
women must  carry  out.  The  sport  will  be  when  they 
each  believe  in  the  other's  doating,  when  there  is  no  such 
matter  ;  that's  the  scene  I  should  like  to  see.  .  .  .  Let  us 
send  her  to  call  him  in  to  dinner." 

When  the  others  had  gone,  Benedick  came  forth  from 
his  hiding-place,  deeply  impressed  with  what  he  had 
heard. 

"  Poor  lady  !"  he  thought.  "  So  she  really  loves  me  ! 
Well,  her  affection  must  be  requited.  I  hear  how  I  am 
censured.  They  say  I  will  bear  myself  proudly  if  I  see 
the  love  come  from  her.  They  say,  too,  she  will  rather 
die  than  give  any  sign  of  affection.  ...  I  never  thought 
to  marry.  ...  I  must  not  seem  proud.     Happy  are  those 

65  E 


Much    Ado    about    Nothin 


g 


that  hear  their  detractions  and  can  put  them  to  mending. 
They  say  the  lady  is  fair  ;  'tis  a  truth,  I  can  bear  them 
witness.  And  virtuous  ;  it  is  so.  And  wise  ;  but  for 
loving  me.  By  my 
troth,  it  is  no  addi- 
tion to  her  wit,  and 
no  great  argument 
of  her  folly,  for  I 
will  be   horribly   in 


"Yet  tell  her  of  it;  hear  what  she  will  say." 


love  with  her.  I  may  chance  to  have  some  odd  quirks 
and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me,  because  I  have  railed 
§0  long  against  marriage  ;  but  does  not  a  man's  opinioQ 

66 


"Cupid's    Crafty    Arrow" 

alter  ?  .  .  .  When  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did 
not  think  I  should  live  till  I  was  married.  Here  comes 
Beatrice.  By  this  day,  she  is  a  fair  lady  !  I  do  spy  some 
marks  of  love  in  her." 

Quite  unconscious  of  all  that  had  taken  place,  Beatrice 
advanced,  and  in  her  usual  mocking  style  announced  : 

"  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come  in  to 
dinner." 

"Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains,"  said 
Benedick. 

"  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks  than  you  take 
pains  to  thank  me,"  said  Beatrice  carelessly.  "  If  it  had 
been  painful  I  would  not  have  come." 

"  You  take  pleasure,  then,  in  the  message  ?"  said 
Benedick  eagerly. 

"Yes,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon  a  knife's 
point,  and  choke  a  daw  withal,"  laughed  Beatrice.  "  You 
have  no  appetite,  signor  ?  Fare  you  well."  And  off 
she  went  gaily. 

"  Ha !  '  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come 
in  to  dinner.'  There's  a  double  meaning  in  that," 
thought  the  poor  deluded  Benedick.  "  '  I  took  no  more 
pains  for  those  thanks  than  you  took  pains  to  thank  me.' 
That's  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Any  pains  that  I  take  for  you 
is  as  easy  as  thanks.'  If  I  do  not  take  pity  on  her,  I  am 
a  villain  ;  if  I  do  not  love  her,  I  am  a  Jew.  I  will  go  get 
her  picture !" 

The  same  trick  which  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato 
had  played  on  Benedick  was  played  on  Beatrice  by  her 
cousin  Hero  and  her  gentlewomen,  Margaret  and  Ursula. 

^7  E   2 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

Beatrice  was  lured  into  the  garden,  and  there,  unseen,  as 
she  imagined,  by  the  others,  she  heard  them  discussing 
Benedick's  love  for  her.  They  followed  much  the  same 
lines  as  the  three  men  had  done  with  regard  to  Beatrice. 
They  spoke  of  Benedick's  hopeless  affection,  of  his  many 
good  qualities,  and  of  his  fear  of  exciting  Beatrice's 
scorn  if  he  should  say  anything  of  his  devotion.  They 
said  it  was  a  great  pity  that  the  lady  Beatrice  was  so 
proud  and  hard-hearted,  and  that  they  certainly  would 
never  tell  her  of  Benedick's  feelings  towards  her,  for  she 
would  only  laugh  at  him  and  treat  him  with  cruel  scorn. 

^'  Yet  tell  her  of  it  ;  hear  what  she  will  say,"  Ursula 
pretended  to  urge  Hero. 

"  No,"  said  Hero,  "  I  would  rather  go  to  Benedick  and 
counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion." 

Having  skilfully  performed  their  task,  the  ladies  retired, 
leaving  Beatrice  overcome  with  wonder  at  what  she  had 
heard,  and  with  all  her  pride  melting  into  a  strange  new 
feeling  of  love. 


The  Night  before  the  Wedding 

It  was  not  likely  that  Benedick's  changed  behaviour 
should  escape  notice,  and  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio  pre- 
tended to  think  he  was  in  love,  and  began  to  tease  him 
unmercifully.  Benedick  met  their  raillery  with  an  air 
of  lofty  scorn,  but  nothing  would  stop  the  shafts  of  wit 
which  the  light-hearted  gentlemen  levelled  at  their 
deluded  companion,  and  they  continued  to  twit  him  on 

68 


The    Night    before    the    Wedding 

his  pensive  demeanour,  and  the  new  air  of  fashion  which 
he  was  adopting. 

But  all  gladness  and  gaiety  were  suddenly  clouded  over 
with  heavy  gloom. 

Having  carefully  prepared  his  villainous  plot  by  the  aid 
of  his  follower  Borachio,  Don  John  came  to  Claudio  and 
the  Prince  of  Arragon,  and  told  them  what  had  been  agreed 
— namely,  that  Hero  was  unworthy  to  be  the  wife  of 
Claudio,  for  she  was  already  ui  love  with  Borachio,  and 
that  if  the  Prince  and  Count  Claudio  wished  to  prove  the 
truth  of  his  statement  they  had  only  to  go  that  night  to 
the  street  outside  Leonato's  palace,  where  they  would  see 
Hero  speaking  out  of  a  window  to  Borachio. 

Don  Pedro  and  Claudio  were,  of  course,  at  first  stunned 
and  incredulous,  but  Don  John  never  faltered  in  the 
terrible  lie  he  was  relating. 

"If  you  will  follow  me  I  will  show  you  enough,"  he 
concluded,  "  and  when  you  have  heard  more  and  seen 
more,  proceed  accordingly." 

"  If  I  see  anything  to-night  why  I  should  not  marry 
her  to-morrow,"  said  Claudio,  "  in  the  congregation  where 
I  should  wed,  there  will  I  shame  her." 

"  And  as  I  helped  you  to  woo  her,  I  will  join  with  you 
to  disgrace  her,"  said  Don  Pedro. 

Now,  the  watchmen  who  kept  the  streets  of  Messina 
were  a  set  of  silly  old  men,  whose  only  idea  of  duty  was 
to  potter  about  the  streets,  and  keep  as  far  as  possibe 
out  of  the  way  of  anyone  who  was  likely  to  give  them  any 
trouble.  Chief  of  them  was  a  constable  called  Dogberry, 
whose  ignorance  and  stupidity  wene  only  equalled  by  his 

69 


Much    Ado    about    Nothin 


g 


enormous  self-conceit.  On  the  night  before  the  wedding, 
however,  these  brilhant  watchmen  actually  did  contrive 
to  effect  a  capture  which  led  to  the  happiest  results. 

Dogberry  had  finished  his  string  of  ridiculous  instruc- 
tions to  the  band,  and  had  just  taken  his  departure,  when 
two  wayfarers  came  along  from  opposite  directions,  and 
stopped  to  speak  to  each  other.  These  were  Borachio 
and  Conrade,  the  two  followers  of  the  wicked  Don  John. 

The  street  was  quite  dark,  and  apparently  deserted, 
and  as  at  that  moment  it  began  to  drizzle  with  rain, 
the  two  men  took  shelter  under  a  convenient  pent-house. 
Suspicious  of  some  treason,  the  watchmen  concealed 
themselves  near,  and  thus  overheard  the  whole  tale  of 
villainy  which  Borachio  confessed  to  Conrade. 

"  Know  that  I  have  to-night  wooed  Margaret,  the  lady 
Hero's  gentlewoman,  by  the  name  of  Hero,"  he  said. 
"  She  leans  out  of  the  window  to  me,  she  bids  me  a  thou- 
sand times  good-night.  But  I  should  first  tell  you  how 
the  Prince,  Claudio,  and  my  master,  placed  and  instructed 
by  my  master  Don  John,  saw  afar  off  in  the  orchard  this 
affectionate  interview." 

"  And  did  they  think  Margaret  was  Hero  ?" 

"  Two  of  them  did — the  Prince  and  Claudio — but  the 
devil,  my  master,  knew  she  w^as  Margaret.  Deceived 
partly  by  the  darkness  of  the  night,  but  chiefly  by  my 
villainy,  which  confirmed  any  slander  that  Don  John  in- 
vented, away  went  Claudio  enraged,  swore  he  would  meet 
her  as  was  appointed  next  morning  at  the  church,  and 
there,  before  the  whole  congregation,  shame  her  with 
what  he  had  seen,  and  send  her  home  again  without  a 
husband." 

70 


The    Night    before    the    Wedding 


Borachio  had  scarcely 
finished  speaking  when  the 
watchmen  pounced  on  the  two 
villains.  Surprised  by  the  sud- 
denness of  the  onslaught,  they 
were     quickly      overpowered, 


A  thousand  times  good-night." 


and,  finding  any  attempt  at  resistance  useless,  they  had 
to  submit  to  being  led  ignominiously  away. 

71 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

"  Done  to  Death  by  Slanderous  Tongues  " 

Next  morning  a  brilliant  company  were  assembled  in 
the  great  church  at  Messina  to  see  the  wedding  of  Count 
Claudio  and  the  lady  Hero.  Beatrice,  of  course,  was 
there  with  her  cousin,  and  Leonato  to  give  his  daughter 
away.  The  young  maiden,  in  her  snowy  robe  and  veil, 
stood  ready,  and  facing  her  was  the  gallant  young  Count, 
in  his  bridal  splendour  of  white  and  gold. 

"  You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this  lady  ?"  said 
the  Friar. 

"  No,"  said  Claudio. 

The  bystanders  were  astonished  at  this  curt  response, 
but  Leonato  corrected  the  Friar's  words. 

"To  be  married  to  her;  Friar,  you  come  to  marry 
her." 

"Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to  this  Count  ?" 

"  I  do,"  said  Hero,  in  a  low  but  steady  voice. 

"  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impediment  why 
you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  charge  you  on  your  souls 
to  utter  it,"  said  the  Friar. 

"  Know  you  any.  Hero  ?"  demanded  Claudio  sternly. 

"  None,  my  lord,"  came  the  slightly  wondering  but 
unfaltering  answer. 

"  Know  you  any,  Count  ?" 

"  I  dare  make  his  answer,  none,"  interposed  Leonato. 

"Oh,  what  men  dare  do  !  what  men  may  do  !  what  men 
daily  do,  not  knowing  what  they  do  !"  cried  Claudio,  in 
a  burst  of  bitter  scorn.  Then,  turning  to  Leonato,  he 
said  :  "  Will  you  with  free  soul  give  me  this  maid,  your 
daughter  ?" 

72 


be 
of 

u 

2 

u 
o 

V 

M 

ei 


'^  Slanderous    Tongues  " 

"  As  freely,  son,  as  God  gave  her  to  me,'-  said 
Leonato. 

"  And  what  have  I  to  give  you  that  shall  equal  in 
worth  this  rare  and  precious  gift  ?"  said  Claudio. 

"  Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again,"  said  Don 
Pedro. 

"  Sweet  Prince,  you  teach  me  noble  thankfulness. 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again." 

And  then  Claudio,  as  he  had  sworn,  in  the  presence  of 
the  whole  congregation,  brought  forth  his  terrible  accusa- 
tions against  Hero,  and  declared  he  would  not  marry  her. 
Stung  to  fury  by  what  he  considered  her  wickedness  and 
deceit — for  the  young  girl's  blushing  modesty  and  grace 
appeared  to  him  nothing  but  seeming — he  related  what 
he  and  the  Prince  had  seen  the  night  before,  and  how 
Hero  had  spoken  out  of  her  window  with  a  ruffian.  It 
was  useless  for  Hero  to  protest  her  innocence  ;  nothing 
could  destroy  the  evidence  of  their  own  eyes. 

Unable  to  endure  this  cruel  and  astounding  calumny. 
Hero  sank  fainting  to  the  ground.  Don  Pedro,  Claudio, 
and  Don  John  left  the  church  ;  the  amazed  wedding 
guests  dispersed  ;  and  Leonato,  Beatrice,  Benedick,  and 
the  Friar  were  left  alone  with  the  unhappy  Hero. 

"  How  doth  the  lady  ?"  asked  Benedick,  approaching 
the  spot  where  Beatrice  was  eagerly  trying  to  recall  her 
cousin  to  consciousness. 

"  Dead,  I  think,"  cried  Beatrice  in  despair.  "  Help, 
uncle  !  Hero — why.  Hero  !  Uncle  !  Signer  Benedick  ! 
Friar  !" 

"  Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame  that  can  be 
wished  for,"  said  the  heart-broken  father. 

75 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

"How  now,  Cousin  Hero !"  said  Beatrice,  as  the  young 
girl  slowly  opened  her  dazed  eyes. 

"  Have  comfort,  lady,"  said  the  Friar  tenderly. 

"  Do  you  look  up  ?"  said  Leonato. 

"  Yes  ;  wherefore  should  she  not  ?"  said  the  Friar. 

In  his  terrible  grief,  not  questioning  the  truth  of  the 
story,  Leonato  declared  that  death  was  the  happiest 
thing  that  could  happen  to  Hero  after  such  dishonour, 
and  that  if  her  spirit  had  strength  enough  to  survive  such 
shame,  he  could  almost  be  tempted  to  kill  her  with  his 
own  hands. 

"  Sir,  sir,  be  patient  !"  pleaded  Benedick.  "  For  my 
part,  I  am  so  attired  in  wonder  I  do  not  know  what  to 
say." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied  !"  exclaimed 
Beatrice. 

Then  the  Friar  stepped  forward,  and  declared  his 
absolute  belief  in  Hero's  innocence,  and  his  words  were 
so  clear  and  convincing  that  even  Leonato  began  to  think 
his  daughter  must  be  wrongfull^^  accused.  The  mystery 
was  puzzling,  for,  as  Benedick  remarked,  the  Prince  and 
Claudio  were  the  soul  of  honour,  and  were  only  too  terribly 
convinced  themselves  of  the  truth  of  what  they  had  said. 
If  they  had  been  misled  in  any  way,  it  must  be  the  work 
of  Don  John,  who  delighted  in  planning  deeds  of  villainy. 

B}^  the  good  Friar's  advice,  it  was  agreed  that  for 
the  present  Hero  should  stay  secretly  in  retirement,  so 
that  the  outside  world  should  imagine  she  was  really 
dead.  Slander  would  then  be  changed  to  remorse,  and 
she  would  be  lamented,  excused,  and  pitied  by  everyone. 
For  it  generally  falls  out  that  we  do  not  prize  to  its  full 

76 


"  Slanderous    Tongues  " 

worth  what  we  have  ;  but  when  it  is  lacked  and  lost,  then 
we  appreciate  its  value.  So  it  would  fare  with  Claudio. 
When  he  should  hear  that  Hero  had  died  at  his  words, 
the  sweet  remembrance  of  her  lovely  life  would  creep 
into  his  soul  ;  then  he  would  mourn  and  wish  he  had 
not  so  accused  her. 

"  Signor  Leonato,  let  the  Friar  advise  you,"  said  Bene- 
dick. "  And  though  you  know  my  loyalty  and  love  to 
the  Prince  and  Claudio,  yet  by  mine  honour  I  will  deal 
as  secretly  and  justly  in  this  matter  as  your  soul  would 
with  your  body." 

So  it  was  agreed,  and  then  the  good  Friar  and  Leonato 
took  away  Hero  to  put  their  plan  into  execution. 

Left  alone  with  Benedick,  Beatrice's  rage  and  indigna- 
tion found  full  vent.  She  was  justly  furious  at  the 
indignity  that  had  been  put  on  her  gentle  cousin,  and 
though  for  a  moment  Benedick  won  her  to  a  hghter  mood 
by  confessing  his  love  for  her,  yet  she  speedily  returned 
to  the  subject  of  which  her  heart  was  full. 

"Oh that  I  were  a  man  !"  she  cried,  her  one  desire  being 
to  revenge  Hero,  and  punish  the  dastards  who  had  wrought 
such  an  insult  on  her.  If  Benedick  really  loved  her,  she 
declared,  he  would  take  this  office  on  himself  and  kill 
Claudio. 

"  Kill  Claudio  !" 

Benedick  hesitated.  No,  he  could  not  do  that. 
Claudio  was  his  friend.  .  .  .  But  he  loved  Beatrice  ;  her 
generous,  whole-hearted  sympathy  for  her  cousin  could 
not  but  prevail  with  one  of  Benedick's  chivalrous  nature. 

"  Think  you  in  your  soul  that  Count  Claudio  has 
wronged  Hero  ?"  he  asked  solemnly. 


Much    Ado    about    Nothin 


g 


"  Yes,  as  surely  as  I  have  a  thought  or  a  soul,"  said 
Beatrice,  with  noble  pride. 

"  Enough  ;  I  am  engaged.  I  will  challenge  him.  I 
will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  I  leave  you.  By  this  hand, 
Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  account.  Go,  comfort 
your  cousin.     I  must  say  she  is  dead.     And  so,  farewell." 

Benedick,  the  scoffer,  the  jester,  the  light-hearted  wit 
of  the  Prince's  Court,  showed  in  this  moment  that  he 
was  also  a  high-souled  chivalrous  gentleman,  fitting  mate 
for  the  brave  and  noble-spirited  Beatrice. 

In  accordance  with  his  promise,  Benedick  went  to 
seek  Claudio.  He  presently  found  him  with  Don  Pedro. 
The  two  gentlemen  had  just  had  a  painful  interview  with 
Leonato,  who  had  indignantly  reproached  them  for  their 
behaviour.  They  felt  anything  but  happy,  although  they 
persisted  in  thinking  that  they  were  quite  justified  in  acting 
as  they  had  done.  However,  at  the  sight  of  Benedick  their 
spirits  rallied,  and  they  tried  to  assume  their  usual  teasing 
vein  of  raillery.  But  Benedick  was  in  no  jesting  humour. 
With  cold  self-possession  he  delivered  his  challenge  to 
Claudio,  and  then  he  took  a  dignified  leave  of  the  Prince 
of  Arragon. 

"  My  lord,  for  your  many  courtesies  I  thank  you,"  he 
said.  "  I  must  discontinue  your  company.  Your  brother 
Don  John  is  fled  from  Messina  ;  you  have  among  you 
killed  a  sweet  and  innocent  lady.  For  my  Lord  Lack- 
beard  there,  he  and  I  shall  meet ;  and  till  then  peace  be 
with  him." 

"  He  is  in  earnest,"  said  the  Prince,  as  Benedick  withdrew. 

"  In  most  profound  earnest,"  said  Claudio  ;  "  and,  I'll 
\varrant  you,  for  the  love  of  Beatrice." 

78 


"  slanderous    Ton 


gues 


"  And  has  challenged  you." 

"  Most  sincerely." 

"  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is  when  he  goes  in  his 
doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  off  his  wit !"  said  Don  Pedro 
disdainfully. 

But  the  self-satisfaction  of  the  Prince  and  Claudio  were 
soon  to  receive  a  severe  shock.  The  watchmen  now 
approached,  bringing  with  them  their  capture  of  the 
night  before,  the  culprits  Borachio  and  Conrade,  and  the 
whole  miserable  tale  of  treachery  was  duly  unfolded. 
Leonato  was  sent  for  in  haste. 

"  Are  you  the  slave  that  with  your  slander  slew  my 
innocent  child  ?"  he  asked  of  Borachio. 

"  Yes,  even  I  alone." 

"  No,  not  so,  villain;  you  belie  yourself,"  said  Leonato. 
*'  Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men  ;  a  third  is  fled 
that  had  a  hand  in  it.  I  thank  you,  Princes,  for  my 
daughter's  death  :  it  was  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink 
you  of  it." 

Claudio  was  overwhelmed  with  remorse  ;  he  dared  not 
ask  pardon  of  the  deeply-wronged  Leonato,  but  he  be- 
sought him  to  chose  his  own  revenge,  and  to  impose  on 
him  any  penance  he  choose  to  invent.  Don  Pedro  also 
joined  him  in  expressing  his  deep  penitence. 

"  I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live,"  replied 
Leonato,  "  but  I  pray  you  both  proclaim  to  all  the  people 
in  Messina  how  innocent  she  died.  Hang  an  epitaph 
upon  her  tomb,  and  sing  it  there  to-night.  To-morrow 
morning  come  to  my  house,  and  since  you  cannot  be  my 
son-in-law,  be  my  nephew.  My  brother  has  a  daughter 
alniost  the  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead.     Marry  her^ 

79 


Much    Ado    about    Nothing 

as  you  would  have  married  her  cousin,  and  so  dies  my 
revenge." 

Claudio  wilHngly  agreed  to  carry  out  this  suggestion, 
and  that  night  he  went  to  the  church  with  a  solemn  com- 
pany, and  read  aloud  the  following  scroll  : 

"  Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues 

Was  the  Hero  that  here  hes  ; 
Death,  in  guerdon  of  her  wrongs, 

Gives  her  fame  which  never  dies. 
So  the  hfe  that  died  with  shame 
Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame." 

"  Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb,  praising  her  when 
I  am  dumb,"  he  added,  placing  the  scroll  on  the  family 
monument  of  Leonato. 

The  following  morning  a  large  company  again  assembled 
in  Leonato's  house,  for  another  wedding  was  to  take 
place.  This  time  all  the  ladies  were  veiled,  and  it  was 
not  until  the  words  were  spoken  in  which  Claudio  took 
an  unknown  maiden  to  be  his  wife  that  the  bride  threw 
back  her  veil  and  revealed  the  well-loved  face  of  Hero. 

Benedick  had  already  announced  to  the  Friar  that 
he  intended  to  marry  the  lady  Beatrice,  and  Leonato 
had  given  his  willing  approval.  Benedick  therefore  ap- 
proached the  group  of  still  masked  figures  to  find  his  own 
lady,  and  called  Beatrice  by  name. 

"What  is  your  will  ?"  she  inquired,  taking  off  her  mask. 

"  Do  not  you  love  me  ?"  asked  Benedick. 

"  Why,  no — no  more  than  reason,"  said  Beatrice  pro- 
vokingly. 

"  Why,  then,  your  uncle  and  the  Prince  and  Claudio 
have  been  deceived  ;  they  swore  you  did." 

80 


"  slanderous    Tongues" 

Ueatrice  laughed. 

"  Do  not  you  love  me  ?"  she  asked  in  her  turn. 

"  Troth,  no  ;  no  more  than  reason,"  said  Benedick 
loftily. 

"  Why,  then,  my  cousin,  Margaret  and  Ursula  are  much 
deceived,  for  they  swore  you  did." 

"  They  swore  you  were  almost  ill  for  me,"  declared 
Benedick  c 

"  They  swore   that   you  were  wellnigh  dead  for  me,' 
retorted  Beatrice. 

"  'Tis  no  such  matter.     Then  you  do  not  love  me  ?" 

"  No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense,"  said  Beatrice, 
with  airy  indifference. 

"  Come,  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  love  the  gentleman," 
said  Leonato. 

"  And  I'll  be  sworn  that  he  loves  her,"  said  Claudio. 

"  Come,  I  will  have  thee,"  said  Benedick.  "  But  by 
this  hght  I  take  thee  for  pity." 

"  I  would  not  deny  you,"  said  Beatrice,  "  but  by  this 
good  day  I  yield  upon  great  persuasion,  and  partly  to 
save  your  life,  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  consumption." 

"  Peace,  I  will  stop  your  mouth  !"  said  Benedick  ;  and 
he  silenced  her  merry  chatter  with  a  loving  kiss. 

"  Ha,  ha !"  laughed  Don  Pedro,  with  shy  malice. 
"  How  dost  thou.  Benedick  the  married  man  ?'''* 

But  the  lovers'  happiness  was  proof  against  dny  raillery 
that  could  be  lavished  on  them,  and  no  lighter  hearts  led 
off  the  revelry  that  wedding-day  than  those  of  Beatrice 
ctnd  Benedick. 


«i 


A    Midsummer- Night's    Dream 


to 


Helena  and  Hermia 


'HESEUS,  Duke  of  Athens,  was  to  wed 
Hippolyta,  Queen  of  the  Amazons,  and 
the  whole  city  was  given  up  to  merri- 
ment in  honour  of  the  occasion.  Theseus 
had  won  his  bride  by  the  sword,  but 
he  was  to  wed  her  in  another  fashion — 
with  pomp,  with  triumph,  and  with  revelling.  Four  days 
had  yet  to  elapse  before  the  marriage,  and  during  that 
time  the  citizens  of  Athens  were  to  busy  themselves  with 
.preparations  for  the  great  event. 

Jn  the  ■midst  of  the  general  rejoicing,  a  gentleman  of 
Athens,  'by  name  Egeus,  came  to  invoke  the  authority 
..of  the  Duke.  Full  of  vexation,  he  came  to  complain 
against  his  child,  his  daughter  Hermia.  Egeus  wished 
her  to  marry  a  certain  gentleman  called  Demetrius ;  but 

82 


Helena    and    Hermia 

meanwhile  Hermia  had  already  fallen  in  love  with  another 
gentleman  called  Lysander,  and  she  declared  she  would 
marry  no  one  but  Lysander. 

Now,  the  law  of  Athens  at  that  time  gave  full  power 
to  a  father  to  dispose  of  his  daughter  as  he  chose ;  that 
is  to  say,  if  she  declined  to  marry  the  man  he  selected, 
the  father  had  power  to  put  her  to  death  or  to  shut  her 
up  in  a  convent. 

The  Duke  of  Athens  gave  Hermia  four  days  to  make 
her  choice.  At  the  end  of  that  time  she  must  either 
consent  to  marry  Demetrius,  in  accordance  with  her 
father's  wishes,  or  else  she  must  retire  to  a  convent  for 
the  rest  of  her  days. 

Hermia  answered  without  hesitation  :  she  would  rather 
be  shut  up  in  a  convent  all  he '  life  than  marry  a  man  she 
did  not  love. 

Lysander  himself  pleaded  that  he  was  in  every  way 
as  suitable  a  match  as  Demetrius — quite  as  well  born 
and  equally  wealthy.  Beyond  all  this,  he  was  beloved 
of  Hermia.  Why,  then,  should  he  not  try  to  win  her  ? 
Besides,  he  added,  Demetrius  had  already  paid  court  to 
another  lady — Helena — and  had  won  her  heart  ;  and 
this  sweet  lady  was  still  devoted  to  this  fickle  and  un- 
worthy man. 

"  I  must  confess  I  have  heard  of  this,  and  I  intended  to 
speak  to  Demetrius  on  the  subject,"  said  the  Duke. 
"  But  being  so  overfull  of  my  own  affairs,  the  matter 
slipped  out  of  my  mind.  But  come,  Demetrius,  and 
come,  Egeus,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  both  in  private. 
As  for  you,  fair  Hermia,  see  that  you  prepare  to  obey 
your  father's  will,  or  else  the  law  of  Athens  which  I  have 

83  r  3 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 

no  power  to  alter,  yields  you  up  to  death  or  to  a  vow 
of  single  life." 

The  Duke  went  off  with  Egeus  and  Demetrius,  and  Her- 
mia  and  Lysander  were  left  alone.  They  were  very  sorry  for 
themselves,  and  began  to  lament  the  misfortunes  and  the 
difficulties  that  always  seem  to  beset  the  path  of  true  love. 

Hermia  was  inclined  to  submit  without  further  struggle, 
but  Lysander  was  not  going  to  give  in  so  easily,  and  he 
hurriedly  unfolded  a  plan  to  save  Hermia  from  the  fate 
that  lay  before  her. 

"  I  have  a  widow  aunt,  very  wealthy,  who  has  no  child," 
he  said.  "  Her  house  is  seven  leagues  distant  from 
Athens,  and  she  treats  me  as  her  own  son.  There,  gentle 
Hermia,  I  can  marry  you,  and  in  that  place  the  sharp 
law  of  Athens  cannot  touch  us.  If  you  love  me,  then, 
steal  from  your  father's  house  to-morrow  night,  and  I 
will  wait  for  you  a  league  outside  the  town,  in  that  wood 
where  I  met  you  once  with  Helena,  gathering  flowers 
before  the  dawn  on  the  first  of  May." 

"  My  good  Lysander !"  cried  Hermia,  hiding  her  real 
earnestness  under  half-jesting  words,  "  I  swear  to  you 
by  Cupid's  strongest  bow  —  by  his  best  arrow  with  the 
golden  head — and  by  all  the  vows  that  ever  men  broke, 
that  I  will  truly  meet  you  to-morrow  in  the  place  you 
have  appointed." 

*'  Keep  promise,  love.     Look  !  here  comes  Helena." 

From  their  earliest  days  Helena  and  Hermia  had  been 
the  dearest  of  friends  and  the  closest  of  companions, 
never  apart,  either  at  work  or  play,  growing  up  together 
side  b}^  side,  like  a  double  cherry,  or  two  lovely  berries 
moulded  on  one  stem. 

84 


Helena   and    Hermia 

But,  alas!  love — or,  rather,  jealousy — had  come  to 
thrust  them  apart.  Demetriu>,  who  had  at  first  paid 
court  to  Helena,  afterwards  transferred  his  affection  to 
Hermia,  and  persuaded  her  father  Egeus  to  favour  his 
suit.  Hermia  cared  nothing  at  all  for  Demetrius,  and 
loved  no  one  but  Lysander.  But  Helena  could  not  for- 
give her  friend  for  having  taken  her  fickle  lover  from  her, 
and  now  she  bitterly  lamented  that  her  own  charms  had 
been  powerless  to  retain  him. 

"  I  frowned  upon  Demetrius,  but  he  loves  me  still," 
said  Hermia,  for  she  did  not  wish  her  friend  to  think  she 
had  acted  unfairly.  "  The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he 
follows  me." 

"  The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hates  me,"  said  Helena 
sadly. 

"  His  folly,  Helena,  is  no  fault  of  mine,"  said  Hermia. 

"  None.  Your  only  fault  is  your  beauty.  Would  that 
fault  were  mine,"  sighed  Helena. 

"  Take  comfort  ;  he  shall  see  my  face  no  more,"  said 
Hermia.  "  Lysander  and  I  are  going  to  fly  this  place. 
We  are  to  meet  to-morrow  in  that  wood  where  you  and  1 
have  so  often  wandered,  and  thence  we  shall  turn  our 
eyes  from  Athens  to  seek  new  friends  and  strange  com- 
panions. Farewell,  sweet  pla3^fellow  ;  pray  for  us,  and 
good  luck  grant  you  your  Demetrius." 

Helena's  passion  for  Demetrius  was  so  strong  that  it 
overpowered  all  other  consideration,  and  on  this  occasion 
it  made  her  do  a  very  mean  and  disloyal  action.  Anxious 
to  win  back  a  little  affection  from  her  faithless  lover,  no 
matter  at  what  cost,  she  determined  to  betray  Hermia's 
secret,  and  to  go  and  tell  Demetrius  of  her  flight.      The^i 

85 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 

Demetrius  would  pursue  her  to-morrow  night  to  the  wood, 
and  if  he  rewarded  Helena  with  even  a  little  gratitude  for 
the  information,  she  felt  her  attempt  would  not  have  been 
in  vain. 


Playing  the  Lion 

Unknown  to  the  lovers,  that  same  wood  was  chosen 
as  a  meeting-plac:^  for  the  following  night  by  a  very 
different  set  of  people.  Several  of  the  petty  artisans  of 
Athens,  anxious  to  celebrate  the  wedding  in  proper  style, 
had  decided  to  perform  a  little  play — or  "  interlude,"  as 
it  was  called — in  the  presence  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess. 
Quince,  the  carpenter,  was  supposed  to  direct  the  pro- 
ceedings of  this  little  band  of  amateur  actors,  but  the 
ruling  spirit  of  the  company  was  in  reahty  Bottom,  the 
weaver.  Bursting  with  self-conceit,  never  able  to  keep 
silent  a  moment.  Bottom  was  ready  to  instruct  everyone 
else  in  his  duties,  and  if  it  had  only  been  possible  for  him 
to  have  played  every  character  in  the  piece,  in  addition 
to  his  own,  he  would  have  been  quite  content.  As  each 
part  was  mentioned,  and  Quince  began  to  apportion 
them  out,  Bottom's  voice  was  heard  again  and  again, 
declaring  how  well  he  could  perform  each  one.  The  play 
was  to  be  "  The  Most  Lamentable  Comedy  and  Most 
Cruel  Death  of  Pyramus  and  Thisby,"  and  Bottom  was 
selected  for  Pyramus,  the  hero. 

"  What  is  Pyramus — a  lover  or  a  tyrant  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  A  lover  that  kills  himself  most  gallantly  for  love," 
answered  Quince. 

"  That  will  ask  some  tears  in  the  true  performmg  of  it,'* 

86 


Playing    the    Lion 

said  Bottom,  swelling  with  sslf-importance.  "  If  /  do 
it,  let  the  audience  look  to  their  eyes." 

The  next  character  w^as  Thisby,  the  heroine,  and  this 
was  given  to  Flute,  the  bellows-mender,  a  thin,  lanky 
youth  with  a  squeaky  voice. 

"  Nay,  faith,  let  me  not  play  a  woman  ;  I  have  a  beard 
coming,"  he  said  piteously. 

"  That's  all  one  ;  you  shall  play  it  in  a  mask,  and  you 
may  speak  as  small  as  you  will,"  said  Quince. 

"If  I  hide  my  face,  let  me  play  Thisby,  too,"  cried 
Bottom  eagerly.  "  I'll  speak  in  a  monstrous  little  voice. 
'  Thisne,  Thisne  !'  'Ah,  Py  ramus,  my  lover  dear  !  Thy 
Thisby  dear,  and  lady  dear  !'  " 

"  No,  no !  you  must  play  Pyramus,  and,  Flute,  you 
Thisby,"  said  Quince. 

"  Well,  proceed,"  said  Bottom. 

Quince  went  on  with  his  list,  and  presently  he  called 
out  the  name  of  Snug,  the  joiner. 

"  You  will  play  the  lion's  part,  Simg,"  he  said  ;  "  and 
now,  I  hope,  there  is  the  play  fitted." 

"  Have  you  the  lion's  part  written  ?  Pray  you,  if  it 
be,  give  it  me,  for  I  am  slow  of  study,"  said  Snug  modestly, 
for  he  was  a  very  meek  and  mild  little  man. 

"  You  may  do  it  extempore,  for  it  is  nothing  but  roar- 
ing," said  Quince. 

"  Let  me  play  the  lion,  too,"  burst  in  Bottom.  "  I 
will  roar  that  it  will  do  any  man's  heart  good  to  hear 
me.  I  will  roar  that  I  will  make  the  Duke  say  :  '  Let 
him  roar  again.'  " 

"If  you  should  do  it  too  terribly,  you  would  frighten 
the  Duchess  and  the  ladies  out  of  their  wits,  so  that  they 

87 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 

would  shriek,  and  that  were  enough  to  hang  us  all,"  said 
Quince. 

"  That  would  hang  us,  every  mother's  son,"  agreed 
the  rest  of  the  little  band,  quaking  with  terror. 

"  I  grant  you,  friends,  that  if  you  should  frighten 
the  ladies  out  of  their  wits,  they  would  have  no  more 
discretion  but  to  hang  us,"  said  Bottom.  "  But  I  will 
aggravate  my  voice  so  that  I  will  roar  as  gently  as  any 
sucking  dove  ;  I  will  roar  as  if  it  were  any  nightingale." 

"  You  can  play  no  part  but  Pyramus,"  said  Quince 
firmly.  So  Bottom  had  reluctantly  to  give  in,  and  to  devote 
his  energies  to  deciding  what  coloured  beard  it  would  be 
best  to  play  the  important  part  of  Pyramus  in.  It  was 
really  quite  a  difficult  matter,  there  were  so  many  to 
choose  from, — straw-colour,  orange  tawny,  purple- in- 
grain, or  French-crown,  which  was  perfect  yellow.  But 
Quince  said  any  colour  would  do,  or  he  might  play  it 
without  a  beard. 

"  Masters,  here  are  your  parts,"  he  concluded,  "  and 
I  am  to  entreat  you,  request  you,  and  desire  you,  to 
know  them  by  to-morrow  night,  and  meet  me  in  the 
palace  wood,  a  mile  outside  the  town,  by  moonlight. 
There  we  will  rehearse,  for  if  we  meet  in  the  city  we  shall 
be  dogged  with  company,  and  our  devices  known.  I 
pray  you,  do  not  fail  me." 

The  Magic  Flower 

Now,  the  wood  which  Hermia  and  Lysander  had  ap- 
pointed as  their  trysting-place,  and  where  Bottom  and 
his  fellow-actors  were  also  to  meet  to  rehearse  their  play, 

88 


The    Magic    Flower 

was  the  favourite  haunt  of  fairies,  and  on  this  Midsummer 
Night  Oberon,  King  of  the  Fairies,  was  to  hold  his  revels 
there.  Sad  to  say,  for  some  time  past  there  had  been 
great  dissension  between  Oberon  and  his  Queen,  Titania, 
and  because  of  their  quarrels  nothing  went  well  in  the 
surrounding  country.  The  cause  of  their  disagreement 
was  a  lovely  Indian  boy,  the  sweetest  little  changeling 
imaginable.  Queen  Titania  had  him  as  her  attendant, 
and  jealous  Oberon  wanted  the  boy  for  his  own  page. 
Titania  refused  to  give  him  up  ;  he  was  the  child  of  a 
dear  friend,  now  dead,  and  for  her  sake  she  had  reared 
up  the  boy,  and  for  her  sake  she  would  not  part  with  him. 

Oberon  and  Titania  never  met  now,  in  grove  or  green, 
by  the  clear  fountain,  or  in  the  spangled  starlight,  with- 
out quarrelling  so  fiercely  that  their  elves  crept  for  fear 
into  acorn-cups,  and  hid  themselves  there.  They  gener- 
ally tried  to  keep  out  of  each  other's  way,  but  on  this 
night  it  happened  that  as  King  Oberon,  with  his  little 
sprite  Puck  and  his  train,  approached  from  one  direction, 
Oueen  Titania  and  her  attendant  fairies  came  near  from 
the  other.  Titania  reproached  Oberon  with  all  the  ill- 
luck  that  was  happening  because  of  their  dissension,  and 
Oberon  replied  that  it  only  lay  with  her  to  amend  it. 

"  Why  should  Titania  cross  her  Oberon  ?"  he  asked. 
"  I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy  to  be  my  henchman." 

"  Set  your  heart  at  rest,"  replied  Titania  ;  "  the  whole 
of  Fairyland  will  not  buy  the  child  of  me." 

"  How  long  do  you  intend  to  stay  in  this  wood  ?" 
asked  Oberon. 

"  Perhaps  till  after  Theseus's  wedding-day,"  said 
Titania.     "  If  you  will  join  patiently  in  our  dance,  and 

89 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 

see  our  moonlight  revels,  go  with  us.  If  not,  shun  me, 
and  I  will  take  care  to  avoid  your  haunts." 

"  Give  me  that  boy,  and  I  will  go  with  you,"  said 
Oberon. 

"  Not  for  your  fairy  kingdom  !"  was  the  decided  answer. 
"  Fairies,  away  !  We  shall  quarrel  in  earnest  if  I  stay 
any  longer." 

As  he  could  not  win  the  boy  by  entreaty,  Oberon 
resolved  to  try  another  plan  to  gain  his  desire.  Calling 
his  little  sprite  Puck  to  him,  he  bade  him  go  and  fetch  a 
certain  magic  flower,  which  maidens  call  "  love-in-idle- 
ness." The  juice  of  this  flower  had  a  wonderful  charm. 
When  laid  on  the  eyelids  of  a  sleeping  man  or  woman  it 
had  the  power  of  making  that  person  doat  madly  on  the 
next  living  creature  that  was  seen.  Oberon  determined 
to  squeeze  some  of  the  juice  of  this  flower  on  Titania's 
eyes  while  she  slept,  so  that  when  she  woke  up  she  should 
immediately  fall  in  love  with  the  first  creature  she  saw, 
whether  it  were  lion,  bear,  wolf,  or  bull,  meddling  monke}^ 
or  busy  ape.  He  determined  also  that  he  would  not  take 
off  the  charm  (which  he  could  do  with  another  herb) 
until  she  had  rendered  up  the  little  Indian  boy  as  page 
to  him. 

"  Fetch  me  this  herb,"  he  said  to  Puck,  "  and  be  thou 
here  again  before  the  leviathan  can  swim  a  league." 

"I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth  in  forty 
minutes,"  cried  the  prompt  little  messenger,  and  away 
he  flew. 

While  King  Oberon  was  awaiting  Puck's  return,  he  saw 
the  unhappy  lady  Helena  approaching  with  her  faithless 
lover    Demetrius.     Oberon   was    invisible,   and    thus    he 

90 


The    Magic    Flower 

overheard  what  they  said.  Demetrius  had  come  to  the 
wood  in  search  of  Hermia  and  Lysander,  for  Helena  had 
told  him  of  their  proposed  flight.  Oberon  heard  Helena 
confess  how  deeply  she  loved  Demetrius,  and  he  heard 
Demetrius  spurn  her  roughly,  and  declare  he  loved  no 
one  but  Hermia. 

Oberon  was  sorry  for  Helena,  and  he  determined  to 
punish  Demetrius.  He  resolved  to  put  some  of  the  magic 
juice  on  the  eyes  of  Demetrius,  so  that  when  he  woke  and 
saw  Helena  he  should  fall  in  love  with  her  again,  and  then 
it  would  be  Helena's  turn  to  repulse  Demetrius  and  refuse 
to  listen  to  him. 

Demetrius  and  Helena  had  scarcely  gone  on  their  way 
when  Puck  returned. 

"  Hast  thou  the  flower  there  ?  Welcome,  wanderer," 
said  Oberon. 

"  i\y,  there  it  is,"  said  Puck. 

"  I  pray  thee,  give  it  me,"  said  Oberon,  and  his  voice 
glided  into  a  sweet  chant : 

"  I  know  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  oxlips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows, 
Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses  and  with  eglantine  : 
There  sleeps  Titania  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lulled  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight ; 
And  there  the  snake  throws  her  enamelled  skin, 
Weed  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fairy  in  : 
And  with  the  juice  of  this  I'll  streak  her  eyes, 
And  make  her  full  of  hateful  fantasies." 

Oberon  found  Titania,  as  he  had  expected,  and,  stealing 
up  quietly  while  she  slept,  he  squeezed  some  of  the  magic 
juice  on  her  eyelids,  repeating  this  charm  as  he  did  so  : 

91 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 

"  What  thou  seest  when  thou  dost  wake, 
Do  it  for  thy  true-love  take, 
Love  and  languish  for  his  sake ; 
Be  it  ounce,  or  cat,  or  bear, 
Pard,  or  boar  with  bristled  hair, 
When  thou  wakest,  it  is  thy  dear. 
Wake  when  some  vile  thing  is  near." 

And,  laughing  to  himself  at  the  strange  experience 
which  was  likely  to  befall  Titania,  off  went  Oberon. 

The  next  wanderers  to  pass  through  that  part  of  the 
wood  were  Hermia  and  Lysander  in  their  flight  from 
Athens.  Being  weary,  they  lay  down  to  rest,  and  speedily 
fell  asleep. 

King  Oberon  had  told  Puck  to  go  in  search  of  a  sweet 
Athenian  lady  who  was  in  love  with  a  disdainful  youth. 
When  Puck  found  them,  he  was  to  drop  some  of  the  juice 
on  the  eyes  of  the  man,  but  to  take  care  to  do  this  when 
the  next  thing  he  espied  would  be  the  lady.  Puck  would 
know  the  man  by  his  Athenian  garments,  added  Oberon. 
Of  course,  by  this,  Oberon  meant  Demetrius  ;  but  Pack 
came  across  Lysander  and  Hermia  instead,  and,  thinking 
they  must  be  the  couple  referred  to,  he  squeezed  the  magic 
juice  on  the  eyelids  of  Lysander. 

This  mistake  of  little  Puck's  led  to  a  great  deal  of  fresh 
mischief. 

Soon  afterwards  Demetrius  came  running  along,  fol- 
lowed by  Helena.  In  the  darkness  of  the  night  Demetrius 
did  not  notice  the  very  people  he  was  in  search  of — 
Lysander  and  Hermia.  Demstri  was  very  angry  that 
Helena  w^ould  persist  in  following  him,  and,  bidding  her 
roughly  stay  where  she  was,  he  hurried  off  alone.  Helena, 
indeed,  was  too  weary  to  pursue  him  further.     She  was 

Q2 


The    Magic    Flower 

just  bewailing  his  unkind  treatment,  when  she  was 
startled  to  see  Lysander  lying  on  the  ground.  She  did  not 
know  whether  he  were  dead  or  asleep,  and  hastily  roused 
him. 


*'  What  thou  seest  when  thou  dost  wak? 
Do  it  for  thy  true-love  take." 


Now,  what  happened  ?  The  fairy  charm  began  to  take 
effect.  Lysander  had  gone  to  sleep  in  love  with  Hermia, 
but,  opening  his  eyes,  his  first  glance  fell  on  Helena,  and, 
in  accordance  with  the  fairy  charm,  his  affections  were 
immediately  transferred  to  Helena.     He  began  speaking 

93 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 


at  once  to  Helena,  and  told  her  that  he  no  longer  cared 

for  Hermia. 

Helena    could    not    understand  what    all    this    meant. 

She  thought  Lysander  was  mocking  her,  and  left  him 

indignantly.  But 
Lysander  followed, 
for  he  was  now  de- 
termined to  have  no 
one  but  Helena. 

Poor  Hermia 
awoke  in  terror  from 
a  horrible  dream. 
She  thought  a  ser- 
pent was  crawling 
over  her,  eating 
her  heart,  and  that 
Lysander  sat 
b}^  smiling.     She 

shrieked  to  Lysander  to  come  and  help  her.     But  there 

was  no  answer  ;  Lysander  had  gone.     Again  she  called  : 
"Lysander,    lord!     What,    out    of    hearing?     Gone  ^ 

No  sound,  no  word  !      Alack,  where  are  you  ?     Speak,  if 

you  can  hear  !     Speak  !     I  almost  swoon  with  dread.^' 
But  when  again  no  answer  came  to  her  piteous  appeal, 

Hermia  knew  in  truth  that  Lysander  was  gone,  and  she 

set  off  at  once  to  try  to  find  him. 


Alack,  where  are  you  ?" 


94 


Puck    in    Mischief 

Puck  in  Mischief 

Queen  Titania,  meanwhile,  was  quietly  sleeping,  and 
she  did  not  even  waken  when  Quince  and  Bottom,  with 
their  ambitious  little  troupe  of  actors,  came  and  began  to 
rehearse  their  play  close  by.  Bottom,  as  usual,  took 
the  lead,  and  make  himself  very  officious  in  directing  all 
the  rest. 

But  if  Titania  did  not  see  them,  someone  else  did. 

Puck,  the  little  imp,  or  Robin  Goodfellow,  as  he  was 
also  called,  was  always  alert  for  any  mischief.  Some- 
times he  played  pranks  to  frighten  the  village  maidens ; 
sometimes  he  frolicked  in  the  churn,  and  prevented  the 
butter  coming,  so  that  the  busy  housewife  toiled  in 
vain ;  at  other  times,  as  Hobgoblin  or  Will-o'-the-Wisp, 
he  led  astray  unwary  travellers  by  night ;  sometimes 
he  took  the  guise  of  a  roasted  apple  in  a  bowl  of  hot 
spiced  ale,  and  bobbed  against  the  lips  of  some  old  gossip 
as  she  was  drinking  ;  or  perhaps  just  when  some  sedate 
elderly  spinster  was  sitting  down  to  tell  a  sad  story,  Puck 
would  skip  away  with  her  three-legged  stool,  and  down 
she  would  go  on  the  ground — bang  ! — while  all  the  other 
old  cronies  shook  with  laughter. 

Puck  was  much  diverted  with  the  strange  crew  of 
petty  artisans  from  Athens,  who  had  come  into  the  wood 
to  rehearse  their  play,  and  he  presently  played  one  of 
his  pranks  on  the  conceited  Bottom.  The  latter,  having 
spoken  some  of  his  lines,  stood  aside  for  a  few  minutes, 
while  the  others  went  on  with  their  parts,  and,  unseen 
by  anyone,  Puck  seized  this  opportunity  to  pop  an  ass's 
head  on  Bottom. 

95 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 

Quite  unconscious  of  the  strange  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  his  appearance,  Bottom  calmly  advanced  when  his 
turn  came  again,  but  at  the  sight  of  the  ass's  head  all  his 
companions  shrieked  and  fled  in  terror,  calling  out  that 
they  were  bewitched.  Bottom  could  not  imagine  why 
they  behaved  in  this  queer  fashion,  and  thought  it  was 
some  trick  to  frighten  him. 

"  I  will  not  stir  from  this  place,  do  what  they  can," 
he  said  stolidly.  "  I  will  walk  up  and  down  here,  and  I 
will  sing,  so  that  they  shall  hear  I  am  not  afraid." 

So  he  began  to  pace  up  and  down,  singing  in  a  very 
harsh,  discordant  manner,  more  like  an  ass's  bray  than 
a  man's  voice  : 

*'  The  ousel-cock  so  black  of  hue, 
With  orange-tawny  bill, 
The  throstle  with  his  note  so  true, 
The  wren  with  little  quill " 

"  What  angel  wakes  me  from  m.y  flowery  bed  ?"  cried 
Titania,  starting  u.p  from  slumber. 

The  charm  was  beginning  to  work,  and  she  gazed  with 
rapture  on  the  curious  monster. 

Bottom  sang  on  : 

"  The  finch,  the  sparrow,  and  the  lark, 
The  plain-song  cuckoo  gray, 
Whose  note  full  many  a  man  doth  mark, 
And  dares  not  answer  nay." 

"  I  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again,"  entreated 
Titania.  "  My  ear  is  charmed  as  much  with  your  music 
as  my  eye  is  enthralled  with  3^our  appearance.  Thou  art 
as  wise  as  thou  art  beautiful." 

"  Not  so,  neither,"  said  Bottom  bluntly ;  "  but  if  I  had 

96 


Puck    in    Mischief 

wit  to  get  out  of  this  wood  I  have  enough  to  serve  my  own 
turn." 

"■  Do  not  desire  to  go  out  of  this  wood,"  pleaded  Titania. 
"  Thou  shalt  remain  here,  whether  thou  wish  it  or  not.  I 
am  a  spirit  of  no  common  kind,  and  I  love  thee  ;  there- 
fore go  with  me.  I'll  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee, 
and  they  shall  fetch  thee  jewels,  and  sing  while  thou 
liest  sleeping  on  a  bank  of  flowers.  Peaseblossom ! 
Cobweb  !     Moth  !  and  Mustard-seed  !" 

Four  little  elves  came  flying  at  the  summons,  and  the 
infatuated  Queen  of  the  Fairies  gave  this  new  object  of 
her  affections  into  their  special  charge.  They  led  him 
away  to  the  bower  of  the  Queen,  and  there  they  decked 
him  with  flowers,  while  Titania  lavished  caresses  on  the 
clownish  monster. 

Bottom  was  not  in  the  least  impressed  with  the  dainty 
loveliness  of  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies.  He  accepted  all 
her  attentions  with  stolid  indifference,  and  ordered  the 
little  elves  about  with  loutish  stupidity.  But  the  magic 
charm  was  so  strong  that  Titania  was  quite  bewitched 
with  him. 

"  Say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desirest  to  eat,"  she  said 
coaxingly. 

"  Truly,  a  peck  of  provender,"  was  the  gruff  reply.  "  I 
could  munch  you  your  good  dry  oats.  But,  I  pray  you, 
let  none  of  your  people  stir.     I  feel  I  am  getting  sleepy." 

"  Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  stay  here  beside  thee,"  said  the 
Queen.  "Fairies,  begone!  Oh,  how  I  love  thee!  how 
I  doat  on  thee  !" 

Hermia  had  gone  in  search  of  Lysander,  but  instead  of 

99  G  2 


A    Midsummer-Night's    Dream 

finding  him  she  came  across  Demetrius.  The  latter  im- 
mediately began,  as  usual,  to  declare  his  affection  for  her, 
and  Hermia,  as  before,  repulsed  him  angrily.  I.ysander 
was  the  only  person  in  the  world  for  whom  she  would  ever 
care,  though  she  could  not  imagine  why  he  had  deserted 
her  so  cruelly  while  she  lay  asleep. 

"  This  is  the  Athenian  whose  eyes  I  told  you  to  anoint," 
said  King  Oberon  to  Puck,  as  they  watched  from  the 
thicket  all  that  was  happening. 

"This  is  the  woman,  but  this  is  not  the  man,"  said 
Puck. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?"  exclaimed  the  King.  "  You 
have  made  a  great  mistake.  You  have  placed  the  love- juice 
on  some  true-love's  eyes,  and  now,  because  of  your  error, 
some  true  love  has  turned  false,  instead  of  some  false  love 
turning  true  !  Go  swifter  than  the  wind  through  the 
wood,  and  look  you  find  Helena  of  Athens.  She  is  pale 
and  ill  with  sighing  for  love.  See  that  you  bring  her  here 
by  some  device.  I  will  charm  the  eyes  of  Demetrius 
before  she  appears." 

Puck  flew  off,  eager  to  repair  the  mischief  he  had  done, 
and  King  Oberon  squeezed  some  of  the  magic  juice  on 
the  eyes  of  Demetrius. 

A  few  minutes  later  Helena  arrived,  but  Lysander  was 
with  her.  Now  there  were  fresh  troubles  and  perplexities. 
Demetrius  woke  up,  and,  as  the  first  object  on  which  his 
eyes  fell  was  Helena,  he  immediately  fell  in  love  with  her 
again,  and  forgot  Hermia. 

But  Helena  could  not  understand  what  all  this  meant. 
She  thought  both  men  were  mocking  and  insulting   her. 

100 


Puck    in    Mischief 

She  Knew  that  only  the  day  before  Lysander  had  wanted 
to  marry  Hermia,  and  that  Demetrius  also  wanted  to 
marry  Hermia,  although  he  had  originally  paid  court  to 
herself.  Why,  then,  did  they  both  now  pretend  that  it 
was  herself  that  they  wanted  ?  She  did  not  know  it 
was  all  the  fault  of  that  mischievous  little  flower. 

Hermia  was  as  much  distressed  as  Helena.  It  was  per- 
plexing enough  when  Demetrius  suddenly  turned  round 
and  would  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  her  ;  but  what 
cut  Hermia  to  the  heart  was  that  her  own  faithful 
Lysander  should  not  only  forsake  her  for  Helena,  but 
shower  insults  on  her  whenever  she  came  near. 

A  pretty  tangle  Puck  had  caused  by  his  mistake  ! 

Demetrius  and  L^^sander  became  so  enraged  with 
jealousy  that  they  challenged  each  other  to  fight,  but 
here  Puck  interfered  again  to  good  effect.  He  contrived 
so  to  baffle  and  mislead  them  that,  instead  of  meeting,  they 
did  nothing  but  chase  each  other  about  in  the  darkness. 
At  last,  quite  wearied  out,  Lysander  sank  down  to  rest, 
while  the  faithful  Hermia  took  up  her  place  near  liim. 
Then  Puck  applied  the  love-juice  again  to  Lysander's 
eyes,  and  this  time  when  he  woke  his  glance  fell  first  on 
Hermia,  so  at  last  all  went  well.  His  affection  was  re- 
stored to  her,  and  as  Demetrius  was  already  in  love  again 
with  Helena,  both  sets  of  lovers  could  be  happy. 

In  the  meanwhile,  King  Oberon  began  to  pity  his  beauti- 
ful Queen,  for  he  could  not  bear  to  see  her  doating  on 
such  a  hideous  monster.  Titania,  ui  the  height  of  her 
new  folly,  had  willingly  yielded  up  the  little  changeling, 

lOI 


A    Midsummer -Night's    Dream 

and  now  that  Oberon  had  got  possession  of  the  boy  he 
dissolved  the  spell  without  delay. 

"  Be  as  thou  wast  wont  to  be  ; 
See  as  thou  wast  wont  to  see  !" 

he  chanted.    "  Now,  my  Titania,  wake,  my  sweet  Queen  !" 

"  My  Oberon  !  What  visions  I  have  had  !"  said  the 
Queen.     "  Ijthought  I  was  in  love  with  an  ass." 

"  There  lies  your  love,"  said  the  King,  pointing  to 
where  Bottom  still  lay  snoring. 

"  How  came  these  things  to  pass  ?  Oh,  how  I  loathe 
his  visage  now  !"  exclaimed  Titania,  shrinking  back  in 
disgust. 

Oberon  next  bade  Puck  remove  the  ass's  head  from 
Bottom,  so  that  when  he  awoke  he  should  think  that  all 
that  had  happened  was  nothing  but  a  dream,  and  then,  to 
the  sound  of  sweet  music,  the  King  and  the  Queen  of  the 
Fairies  took  flight,  once  more  good  friends. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Theseus,  Duke  of  Athens,  with 
his  promised  bride,  Hippolyta,  went  hunting  in  the  w^ood, 
and  there  they  came  across  the  two  pairs  of  lovers. 
Egeus,  the  father  of  Hermia,  was  with  the  Duke,  but 
there  was  no  need  now  to  enforce  the  cruel  law.  Demetrius 
resigned  all  claim  on  Hermia,  and  declared  that  the  only 
person  he  wished  to  marry  was  his  first  love,  Helena.  To 
these  happy  lovers  it  seemed  now  that  everything  that 
had  passed  was  a  dream. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  we  are  awake  ?"  said  Demetrius. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  yet  we  sleep,  we  dream." 

But  their  happiness  was  no  dream,  and  did  not  melt 

102 


Puck    in    Mischief 

away  with  morning  light.  The  wedding  of  Lysander  and 
Hermia  and  of  Demetrius  and  Helena  took  place  at  the 
same  time  as  that  of  Duke  Theseus  and  Hippolyta. 
Great  were  the  festivities  at  Athens,  and  one  of  the  most 
notable  features  of  the  evening's  entertainment  was  un- 
doubtedly the  play  acted  by  Bottom  and  his  valiant 
companions. 

"  A  tedious  brief  scene  of  young  Pyramus  and  his  love 
Thisbe  :  very  tragical  mirth,"  ran  the  title  in  the  pro- 
gramme, and  very  mirthful  tragedy  most  of  the  spectators 
found  it. 


103 


A  Merry  Bond 


HUNNED,  hated,  despised,  insulted,  the 
Jews  in  the  Middle  Ages  led  a  cruel  and 
embittered  existence  among  their  Chris- 
tian brethren.  But  beaten  down  and 
oppressed  as  they  were  in  most  of  the 
countries  of  Europe,  they  still  prospered 
as  far  as  money  matters  were  concerned,  and,  in  spite  of 
the  demands  continually  levied  on  them,  they  contrived 
to  amass  large  hoards  of  wealth.  When  the  great  nobles 
or  merchant  princes  of  those  days  got  into  difficulties,  it 
was  to  the  Jews  they  turned  for  help,  and  the  enormous 
sums  charged  as  interest  for  the  loan  enabled  the  Jews  to 
fill  their  coffer.*;  rapidly. 

Shylock  was  one  oi  the  richest  Jews  in  Venice,  although 
he  lived  in  a  wretched,  penurious  style,  with  only  a 
clownish  lad  to  act  as  servant.  Shylock  had  on 3  child, 
a  pretty,  flighty  daughter  called  Jessica,  whos?  nature 
was  very  different  from  her  father's.     Jessica  was  g'dy, 

104 


A    Merry    Bond 


extravagant,  without  much  heart,  and  with  no  respect  or 
affection  for  her  own  race  and  kindred.  She  longed  to 
free  herself  from  the  miserly  restraint  of  her  father's 
house,  and  to  join  m  the  amusements  from  which  his 
severity  debarred  her.  Not  only  this,  but  she  had  become 
acquainted  with  a  handsome  young  Venetian  called 
Lorenzo.  She  had  secretly  promised  to  become  his  wife, 
and  intended  on  the  first  opportunity  to  elope  with 
Lorenzo  and  to  give  up  the  Jewish  religion. 

Shylock  hated  all  Christians,  which  was  scarcely  to  be 
wondered  at,  considering  the  way  in  which  he  had  been 
treated,  but  the  special  object  of  his  aversion  was  a 
certain  wealthy  merchant  named  Antonio.  Shylock  hated 
Antonio  partly  because,  whenever  they  happened  to  meet, 
the  merchant  treated  him  with  contemptuous  scorn,  but 
chiefly  because  Antonio  lent  out  money  gratis,  and  so 
brought  down  the  rate  of  usury  in  Venice.  Antonio  had 
also,  at  different  times,  released  poor  people  whom  Shylock 
had  imprisoned  for  debt,  and  often  on  the  Rialto  (which 
was  the  public  place  in  Venice,  where  the  merchants 
congregated)  Antonio  had  railed  against  the  grasping 
avarice  of  the  Jewish  extortioner. 

Thus  Antonio  had  wounded  Shylock  in  the  two  most 
intense  passions  of  his  life — his  pride  of  race  (for  in  his 
own  way  Shylock  was  a  strict  follower  of  his  religion)  and 
his  love  of  m^oney.  Shylock  brooded  over  his  wrongs,  and 
if  ever  the  opportunity  came  when  he  could  gratify  his 
ancient  grudge,  he  resolved  to  be  bitterly  revenged. 

He  had  long  to  wait,  but  at  last  his  chance  came. 

Antonio  had  a  friend  called  Bassanio,  a  gallant,  high 
spirited  gentleman,  but  one  whose  open-handed,  generous 

105 


The    Merchant    of  Venice 

disposition  made  him  spend  more  freely  than  his  means 
allowed.  Bassanio  was  in  love  with  a  beautiful  lady 
called  Portia,  and  had  good  reason  for  believing  that  he 
was  looked  on  with  an  eye  of  favour.  He  would  gla,dly 
have  come  forward  in  earnest  as  a  suitor  for  her  hand,  but 
his  somewhat  extravagant  mode  of  living  had  for  the 
moment  exhausted  his  means,  and  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  appear  at  Belmont,  Portia's  house,  in  the  style 
befitting  a  suitor. 

Antonio,  who  was  devoted  to  Bassanio,  had  often 
helped  him  before,  and  on  this  occasion  Bassanio  turned 
to  him  again.  Antonio  was  more  than  ready  to  help, 
and  placed  all  he  possessed  at  Bassanio's  disposal.  But, 
unfortunately,  at  that  moment  he  could  not  lay  his  hand 
on  a  large  sum  of  ready  money,  for  all  his  fortune  was 
on  the  high  seas.  However,  he  bade  Bassanio  go  forth, 
and  see  what  his  credit  could  do  in  Venice ;  and  he  pro- 
mised to  become  surety  to  the  uttermost  of  his  means,  in 
order  that  Bassanio  might  be  fittingly  equipped  on  his 
quest  to  Belmont. 

In  his  search  for  money  Bassanio  came  across  Shylock, 
one  of  the  chief  usurers  in  Venice,  and  to  him  he  applied 
for  a  loan.  Shylock  did  not  at  first  appear  very  willing 
to  grant  his  request. 

"Three  thousand  ducats; — well?"  he  said  in  a  ponder- 
ing, deliberate  fashion. 

"  Ay,  sir,  for  three  months,"  said  Bassanio. 

"  For  three  months ; — well  ?" 

"  For  the  which,  as  I  told  you,  Antonio  shall  be  bound." 

"  Antonio  shall  become  bound  ; — well  ?"  echoed  Shy- 
lock, still  in  the  same  slow  voice. 

io6 


A    Merry    Bond 


"  Can  you  help  me  ?  Will  you  oblige  me  ?  Shall  1 
know  your  answer  ?"  said  Bassanio  rather  impatiently. 

"  Three  thousand  ducats — for  three  months — and 
Antonio  bound,"  murmured  the  Jew  reflectively. 

"  Your  answer  to  that  ?"  demanded  Bassanio. 

"  Antonio  is  a  good  man,"  mused  Shylock. 

"  Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  the  contrary  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  no  !  My  meaning  in  saying  he  is  a 
good  man  is  to  have  you  understand  me  that  he  is  suffi- 
cient. Yet  his  means  are  in  supposition.  He  hath  an 
argosy  bound  to  Tripolis,  another  to  the  Indies.  I  under- 
stand, moreover,  on  the  Rialto,  he  hath  a  third  at  Mexico,  a 
fourth  for  England,  and  other  ventures  he  hath,  squan- 
dered abroad.  But  ships  are  but  boards,  sailors  but 
men  ;  there  be  land-rats  and  water-rats,  land-thieves 
and  water-thieves — I  mean,  pirates  ;  and  then  there  is 
the  peril  of  waters,  winds,  and  rocks.  The  man  is,  not- 
withstanding, sufficient.     I  think  I  may  take  his  bond." 

"  Be  assured  you  may,"  said  Bassanio. 

"  I  will  be  assured  I  may,"  said  Shylock,  with  a  sudden 
snarl,  "  and  that  I  will  be  assured,  T  will  bethink  me. 
May  I  speak  with  Antonio  ?" 

"  Here  he  comes,"  said  Bassanio  ;  and  at  that  moment 
Antonio  joined  them. 

The  merchant  repeated  the  request  that  Bassanio  had 
already  made,  and  pressed  Shylock  for  his  answer. 
Could  he  oblige  them  with  the  loan  ?  Then  for  a  moment 
of  ungovernable  fury  Shylock's  long-lioarded  venom  broke 
forth.  He  reminded  Antonio  of  the  pitiless  contempt 
with  which  he  had  always  treated  him,  of  the  way  in 
which  he  had  publicly  heaped  insults  and  abuse  on  him. 

107 


The    Merchant    of  Venice 

"  It  now  appears  you  need  my  help,"  continued  Shy- 
lock  bitterly  "You  come  to  me  and  you  say,  '  Shylock, 
we  would  have  money  ' — you  say  so.  that  spurned  me  as 
you  would  a  stranger  car  over  3^our  threshold  !  Money 
is  your  suit !  What  should  I  sa}^  to  you  ?  Should  I  not 
say,  '  Hath  a  dog  money  ?     Is  it  possible  a  cur  can  lend 


"  For  these  courtesies  I'll  lend  you  thus  much  money." 

three  thousand  ducats  ?'  Or  shall  I  bend  low,  like  a 
slave,  and,  with  bated  breath  and  whispering  humbleness, 
say  this,  '  Fair  sir,  you  spat  on  me  on  Wednesday  last  ; 
you  spurned  me  such  a  day  ;  another  time  you  called 
me  dog  ;  and  for  these  courtesies  I'll  lend  you  thus  much 
money  '  ?" 

^'  I  am  as  like  to  call  you  so  again,  to  spit  on  you  again, 

io8 


A    Merry    Bond 


to  spurn  you,  too,"  burst  out  Antonio.  "  If  you  will 
lend  me  this  money,  do  not  lend  it  as  if  to  a  friend,  but 
rather  as  if  to  your  enemy,  from  whom,  if  he  fails  to  pay, 
you  can  with  better  face  exact  the  penalty." 

Then  Shylock  suddenly  turned  round,  and  became 
very  fawning,  and  pretended  tiiat  his  only  wish  was  to 
be  friends  with  Antonio  and  have  his  love.  He  would 
suppty  his  present  needs,  he  said,  and  not  take  one  farthing 
of  interest.  The  only  condition  he  imposed  was  that 
Antonio  should  go  with  him  to  a  notary,  and  there,  in 
merry  sport,  sign  a  bond  thrt  if  the  money  were  not 
repaid  by  a  certain  day  the  forfeit  should  be  a  pound  of 
flesh,  cut  off  and  taken  from  what  part  of  the  merchant's 
body  it  pleased  Shylock. 

"  Content,  in  faith ;  I'll  seal  to  such  a  bond,  and  say 
there  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew,"  said  Antonio. 

"  You  shall  not  seal  to  such  a  bond  for  me,"  cried 
Bassanio,  aghast  at  the  idea  of  such  an  agreement. 

"  Why,  do  not  fear,  man,"  said  Antonio  ;  ''  I  will  not 
forfeit  it.  Within  the  next  two  months — that's  a  month 
before  the  forfeit  becomes  due — I  expect  the  return  of 
thrice  three  times  this  bond." 

And  Shylock  chimed  in,  pointing  out  that  even  if  the 
bond  did  become  forfeit,  what  should  he  gain  by  exacting 
the  penalty  ?  A  pound  of  man's  flesh  would  be  of  no 
use  to  him — not  nearly  so  profitable  as  the  flesh  of  mutton, 
beef,  or  goat. 

"Yes,  Shylock,  I  will  seal  this  bond,"  declared  Antonio; 
and  it  was  useless  for  Bassanio  to  argue  further,  althougli 
his  mind  misgave  him  at  such  a  sinister  agreement. 


109 


The    Merchant    of  Venice 


The  Three  Caskets 

Portia,  the  lady  whom  Bassanio  hoped  to  win  for  his 
wife,  had  inherited  great  wealth,  but  there  was  one 
strange  clause  in  her  father's  will.  She  was  not  free  to 
choose  her  own  husband.  Her  father  had  ordained  that 
there  should  be  three  caskets — one  of  gold,  one  of  silver, 
one  of  lead — and  Portia's  portrait  was  to  be  placed  in  one 
of  these  caskets.  Every  suitor  had  to  make  his  choice,  and 
whoever  was  fortunate  enough  to  select  the  one  containing 
the  portrait  was  to  be  rewarded  with  the  lady's  hand. 

The  report  of  Portia's  wealth  and  wondrous  beauty 
spread  abroad,  and  many  adventurers  came  in  search  of 
her.  Portia  liked  none  of  them,  and  felt  much  aggrieved 
to  be  so  curbed  by  her  dead  father's  will.  Her  waiting- 
maid  Nerissa  tried  to  console  her  b}^  reminding  her  how 
wise  and  good  her  father  had  always  been.  Holy  men, 
she  said,  had  often  at  their  deaths  good  inspirations,  and 
it  would  very  likely  come  to  pass  that  the  casket  would 
never  be  rightly  chosen  except  by  someone  who  rightly 
loved. 

Portia  listened,  but  she  was  scarcely  convinced.  Among 
her  suitors  there  was  not  one  for  whom  she  felt  anything 
but  ridicule  or  contempt.  She  was  therefore  delighted 
when  Nerissa  went  on  to  tell  her  that  the  gentlemen 
were  departing  to  their  own  homes,  and  intended  to 
trouble  her  no  further,  unless  she  could  be  won  by  some 
other  means  than,  those  imposed  by  her  father. 

"  I  am  glad  the  parcel  of  wooers  are  so  reasonable, 
for  there  is  not  one  among  them  but  I  doat  on  his  very 

1 1.0 


The    Three    Caskets 

absence !"  said  Portia  gaily.  "  Heaven  grant  them  a  fair 
departure  !" 

"  Do  you  not  remember,  lady,  in  your  father's  time,  a 
Venetian,  a  scholar  and  a  soldier,  that  came  here  in 
company  of  the  Marquis  of  Monferrat  ?"  asked  Nerissa. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  was  Bassanio,"  answered  Portia  quickly  ; 
then,  more  slowb/,  as  if  she  would  not  have  Nerissa  notice 
her  eagerness,  "  I  think  he  was  so  called." 

"  True,  madam.  He,  of  all  the  men  that  ever  my 
foohsh  eyes  looked  upon,  was  the  best  deserving  a  fair 
lady." 

"  I  remember  him  well,  and  I  remember  him  worthy 
of  your  praise,"  said  Portia. 

At  that  moment  a  serving-man  entered  to  say  that  four 
stranger  lords  desired  to  take  their  leave  of  the  lady 
Portia,  and  that  a  forerunner  had  come  from  a  fifth,  the 
Prince  of  Morocco,  who  brought  word  that  his  master 
would  be  there  that  night. 

"  Come,  Nerissa,"  said  Portia,  with  a  little  gesture  of 
half-comic  despair.  "  While  we  shut  the  gates  upon  one 
wooer,  another  knocks  at  the  door." 

The  caskets  were  duly  set  out  in  order,  and  the  Prince 
of  Morocco  was  to  make  his  choice.  The  first,  of  gold, 
bore  this  inscription  : 

''Mbo  cboosetb  me  sball  gain  wbat  manp  men 
bestre/' 

The  second,  of  silver,  carried  this  promise  : 

''  Mbo  cbooaetb  me  sball  get  as  mucb  as  be  H- 
serves," 

III 


Th^    ivlerchant    of   Venice 

The  third,  dull  lead,  had  this  blunt  warning  : 

''Ximbo  cboosetb  me  must  give  an^  ba3ar^  all  be 
batb/' 

Long  and  carefully  the  Prince  of  Morocco  pondered, 
seeking  to  discover  the  hidden  meaning  that  lay  in  each 
mysterious  inscription.  But  at  last  his  decision  was 
made. 

"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire.'' 

"Why,  that's  the  lady,"  reflected  the  Prince.  "  AF 
the  world  desires  her  ;  they  come  from  the  four  corners 
of  the  earth  to  behold  fair  Portia.  One  of  these  three 
caskets  contains  her  pictiu'e.  Is  it  likely  that  lead  con- 
tains her  ?  That  is  too  base  a  thought.  Or  shall  I 
think  she  is  immured  in  silver,  when  gold  is  ten  times 
more  valuable  ?     Give  me  the  key.     I  choose  here." 

"  There,  take  it,  Prince,"  said  Portia,  "  and  if  my 
picture  is  there,  then  I  am  yours." 

The  Prince  of  Morocco  unlocked  the  golden  casket. 
And  what  did  he  behold  ?  .  .  .  Not  the  fair  image  of 
the  lovely  Portia,  but  a  grinning  skull.  In  the  empty 
eye  there  was  a  written  scroll,  and  this  is  what  it  said  : 

"  All  that  glisters  is  not  gold  ; 
Often  you  have  heard  that  told : 
Many  a  man  his  life  hath  sold 
But  my  outside  to  behold  : 
Gilded  tombs  do  worms  infold. 
Had  you  been  as  wise  as  bold, 
Young  in  limbs,  in  judgment  old, 
Your  answer  had  not  been  inscrolled. 
Fare  you  well  ;  your  suit  is  cold." 

"  Cold  indeed  ;  and  labour  lost  :  then  farewell,  heat, 
and   welcome,   frost  !"    sighed    the    Prince ;    and    there 

112 


The    Three    Caskets 

was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  take  a  dignified 
departure. 

The  next  suitor  to  put  in  an  appearance  was  the  Prince 
of  Arragon,  but  he  was  no  more  fortunate  than  the 
Prince  of  Morocco.  His  choice  fell  on  the  silver  casket, 
but  for  all  his  reward  he  found  the  portrait  of  a  blinking 
idiot.  Portia  gladly  saw  him  depart,  and  at  the  same 
moment  arrived  a  messenger  to  announce  the  coming  of  a 
young  Venetian  lord.  Some  instinct  made  Portia  guess 
who  was  approaching,  and  she  was  not  mistaken  ;  it 
was  indeed  the  lord  Bassanio. 

Very  different  were  the  feelings  with  which  Portia 
watched  this  suitor  make  his  choice  from  those  she  had 
experienced  on  former  occasions.  She  had  even  begged 
Bassanio  to  pause  for  a  da3/  or  two,  for  if  he  chose  wrongly 
she  would  lose  his  company.  But  Bassanio  replied  that 
he  must  choose  at  once,  for  as  matters  were  now  he  lived 
upon  the  rack.  His  chief  dread  was  that  Portia  might 
not  care  for  him,  but  the  lady  soon  comforted  him  on 
that  point.  Even  if  he  lost  the  prize,  he  would  have  the 
consolation  of  knowing  that  he  was  really  loved. 

Portia  bade  Nerissa  and  the  rest  stand  all  aloof,  and 
ordered  sweet  music  to  sound  while  Bassanio  made  his 
choice. 

Like  the  Prince  of  Morocco  and  the  Prince  of  Arragon, 
Bassanio  stood  long  in  reflection  before  the  fated  caskets. 
But,  unlike  these  Princes,  he  made  a  happier  choice. 
The  gold  and  the  silver  he  rejected,  for  he  knew  how  often 
appearances  were  deceitful  ;  but  the  humble  lead,  which 
rather  threatened  than  promised  anything,  attracted  his 
fancy. 

113  « 


The    Merchant    of   Venice 

*'  Thou  meagre  lead,  thy  paleness  moves  me  more 
than  eloquence,"  he  said.  "  Here  I  choose  ;  joy  be  the 
consequence  !" 

Bassanio  unlocked  the  leaden  casket,  and  there  he 
found  the  portrait  of  the  lady  Portia,  with  her  golden 
hair  and  her  eyes  smiling  back  at  him  in  greeting. 

With  the  picture  was  a  scroll,  on  which  was  written  : 

"  You  that  choose  not  by  the  view, 
Chance  as  fair  and  choose  as  true  ! 
Since  this  fortune  falls  to  you, 
Be  content  and  seek  no  new. 
If  you  be  well  phased  with  this. 
And  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss, 
Turn  you  where  your  lady  is 
And  claim  her  with  a  loving  kiss." 

"  A  gentle  scroll.  Fair  lady,  by  your  leave  I  come  by 
note  to  give  and  to  receive,"  said  Bassanio,  following 
the  advice  of  the  scroll.  He  was  almost  dazed  at  his 
own  good  fortune,  and  scarcely  dared  to  believe  it  could 
be  true  until  it  was  confirmed  and  ratified  by  the  lady 
herself.  But  Portia  left  him  no  doubt  on  that  point,  and 
her  love  and  joy  overflowed  in  a  generous  surrender  of 
herself  and  all  her  possessions  to  her  new-found  "  lord, 
her  governor,  her  king." 

"  This  house,  these  servants,  and  myself  are  yours,  my 
lord,"  she  ended.  "  I  give  them  with  this  ring,  which 
when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away,  let  it  foretell 
the  ruin  of  your  love." 

Bassanio  declared  he  had  no  words  in  which  to  answer  ; 
there  was  nothing  but  a  wild  sense  of  joy.  And  as  for 
the  ring,  he  would  never  part  with  it  as  long  as  he  lived. 

The  happiness  resulting  from  Bassanio's  choice  of  the 

JI4 


''  Revenge  !" 


right  casket  did  not  end  with  themselves,  for  now  another 
couple  stepped  forward,  and  craved  permission  to  be 
married  at  the  same  time  as  the  lord  and  the  lady.  One 
of  Bassanio's  companions  had  come  with  him  to  Belmont, 
a  gay,  feather-brained  yoimg  fellow  called  Gratiano. 
This  lively  chatterer  had  fixed  his  affections  on  Nerissa, 
the  waiting- woman,  and  their  fate,  too,  himg  on  the 
caskets,  for  Nerissa  promised  that  if  Bassanio  succeeded 
in  winning  her  mistress,  she  would  consent  to  marry 
Gratiano.  Nerissa,  further,  in  imitation  of  Portia,  gave 
her  own  wooer  a  ring  ;  and  Gratiano,  like  Bassanio, 
swore  that  he  would  never  part  with  it. 


*'  Revenge 


»'» 


Meanwhile,  in  Venice,  things  were  not  going  well,  eithei 
for  Shylock  or  for  Antonio.  The  three  months  for  which 
Antonio  had  borrowed  the  money  had  almost  expired, 
when  a  dreadful  blow  fell  on  the  Jew.  Jessica,  his  only 
child,  fled  with  a  Christian.  Not  only  tiiis,  but  she  carried 
off  with  her  rich  plunder  of  money  and  jewels,  stolen 
from  her  father's  hoards.  Shylock  was  almxost  out  of  his 
mind  with  rage  and  grief,  and  from  his  frenzied  ravings  it 
was  difficult  to  say  which  loss  he  felt  the  most — that  of 
his  ducats  or  his  daughter.  Jessica,  in  her  heedless 
extravagance,  squandered  money  right  and  left,  and 
even  a  precious  turquoise  ring  which  her  mother  had 
given  to  Shylock  before  their  marriage  was  not  held 
sacred — Jessica  bartered  it  at  Genoa  to  a  sailor  in  ex- 
change for  a  monkey  ! 

115  H  Z 


The    Merchant    of   Venice 

The  news  of  his  daughter's  reckless  prodigaht^/  cut 
Shylock  to  the  heart,  but  he  had  one  source  of  consola- 
tion to  which  he  turned  with  savage  glee.  Antonio,  the 
merchant,  had  met  with  heavy  losses,  and  one  ship  after 
another  had  been  wrecked  at  sea.  On  the  Rialto  it  was 
reported  that  Antonio  must  certainly  be  bankrupt. 

"  Let  him  look  to  his  bond  !"  cried  Shylock.  "  He 
was  wont  to  call  me  usurer  ;  let  him  look  to  his  bond  ! 
He  was  wont  to  lend  money  for  Christian  courtesy  ;  let 
him  look  to  his  bond  !" 

"  Why,"  said  one  of  Antonio's  friends,  "  I  am  sure 
if  he  forfeit  you  will  not  take  his  flesh.  What's  that  good 
for  ?" 

"  To  bait  fish  withal,"  said  Shylock,  with  a  snarl  like 
a  tiger.  "  If  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my 
revenge.  He  has  disgraced  me  and  hindered  me  half  a 
million  ;  laughed  at  my  losses,  mocked  at  my  gains, 
scorned  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my 
friends,  heated  my  enemies :  and  what's  his  reason  ?  I 
am  a  Jew !  .  .  .  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  Hath  not  a 
Jew  hands,  organs,  senses,  affections,  passions  ?  Fed 
with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  subject 
to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means,  warmed 
and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer,  as  a  Christian 
is  ?  If  3/0U  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  If  you  tickle 
us,  do  we  not  laugh  ?  If  you  poison  us,  do  we  not  die  ? 
And  if  you  wrong  us,  shall  we  not  revenge  ?  If  we  are 
like  you  in  the  rest,  we  will  resemble  you  also  in  that. 
If  a  Jew  wrong  a. Christian,  what  is  his  humility  ?  Re- 
venge. If  a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his 
sufferance  be  by  Christian  example  ?     Why,  revenge  ! 

116 


(( 


Revenge  !" 


The  villainy  you  teach  me  I  will  execute,  and  it  shall  go 
hard  but  I  will  better  the  instruction." 

And  Shylock's  resolution  was  like  rock  —  nothing 
could  shake  it.  When  the  bond  fell  due,  and  Antonio 
failed  to  meet  it,  Shylock  had  him  arrested,  and  insisted 
on  the  case  bemg  brought  to  trial  before  the  Duke  of 
Venice.  No  arguments  could  move  him,  no  appeals  for 
mercy — not  even  the  offer  of  the  money,  if  Antonio  could 
have  got  it. 

"I'll  have  no  speaking  ;  I  will  have  my  bond,"  was 
his*  only  answer. 

The  Venetian  gentleman  with  whom  Jessica  had  fled 
to  get  married — Lorenzo — was  a  friend  of  Antonio  and 
Bassanio.  The  young  husband  and  wife  in  their  flight 
happened  to  come  across  another  friend  of  theirs  who 
■  was  conveying  the  news  of  Antonio's  disaster  to  Bassanio, 
and  at  his  request  Lorenzo  and  Jessica  went  with  him  to 
Belmont.  They  reached  the  house  at  the  very  moment 
when  everyone  was  in  the  full  tide  of  joy  after  the  success- 
ful choosing  of  the  casket.  Portia  made  them  welcome, 
and  Salerio  handed  a  letter  to  Bassanio.  The  latter 
turned  so  pale  on  reading  it  that  Portia  guessed  some- 
thing terrible  must  have  happened.  She  claimed  her 
right  as  promised  wife  to  share  in  all  that  concerned 
Bassanio,  and  he  told  her  without  hesitation  how  matters 
stood. 

"  Is  it  your  dear  friend  who  is  thus  in  trouble  ?"  asked 
Portia,  when  she  had  heard  the  account  of  Antonio's 
troubles,  and  how  it  was  for  Bassanio's  sake  he  had  run 
such  a  risk. 

"  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man  !"  answered 

117 


The    Merchant   of   Venice 

Bassanio.  "  the  most  unwearied  in  doing  courtesies,  and 
the  most  unsulUed  in  honour." 

"  What  sum  does  he  owe  the  Jew  ?" 

"  For  me,  three  thousand  ducats." 

"  What !  no  more  ?  Pay  him  six  thousand  and 
cancel  the  bond.  Double  six  thousand,  and  then  treble 
that,  before  such  a  friend  shall  lose  a  hair  through  Bas- 
sanio's  fault  !"  exclaimed  Portia.  "  First  go  with  me  to 
church  and  call  me  wife,  then  hasten  to  Venice,  to  your 
friend.  You  shall  have  gold  to  pay  the  debt  twenty 
times  over.  .  .  .  But  let  me  hear  the  letter  of  your 
friend." 

"  Sweet  Bassanio,"  ran  the  letter,  "  my  ships  have  all 
miscarried,  my  creditors  grow  cruel,  my  estate  is  very 
low,  my  bond  to  the  Jew  is  forfeit  ;  and  since,  in  paying 
it,  it  is  impossible  I  should  live,  all  debts  are  cleared 
between  you  and  me  if  I  might  but  see  you  at  my  death. 
Notwithstanding,  use  your  pleasure  ;  if  your  love  do 
not  persuade  you  to  come,  let  not  my  letter." 

"  O  love,  despatch  all  business  and  begone  !"  cried 
Portia. 

The  two  marriages  were  hastily  solemnised,  and  then 
Bassanio  and  Gratiano  started  at  once  for  Venice. 

When  they  were  gone,  Portia  announced  to  Lorenzo 
and  Jessica  that  during  her  husband's  absence  she  intended 
to  retire  into  seclusion,  and  she  committed  the  manage- 
ment of  her  house  and  estate  into  their  hands.  Then 
she  gave  some  hurried  directions  to  a  serving-man — Bal- 
thasar  ;  he  was  to  carry  a  letter  with  all  speed  to  Padua, 
to  a  learned  cousin  of  Portia's — Doctor  Bellario. 

"  Look  what  notes  and  garments  he  gives  you,"  she 

ii8 


A    Pound    of   Flesh 

said,  "  and  bring  them  with  all  imaginable  speed  to 
Venice,  to  the  public  ferry.  Waste  no  time  in  words, 
but  get  you  gone.  I  shall  be  there  before  you.  .  .  . 
Come,  Nerissa,"  she  continued,  "  I  have  work  in  hand 
that  you  do  not  yet  know  of  ;  we  shall  see  our  husbands 
before  they  think  of  us  !" 

"  Shall  they  see  us  ?"  asked  Nerissa. 

*'  They  shall,  Nerissa,  but  in  such  a  guise  they  will  not 
know  us.  I'll  wager  you  anything,  when  we  are  both 
dressei  like  young  men.  111  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of 
the  two,  and  wear  my  dagger  with  a  braver  grace  !  But 
come,  I'll  tell  you  my  whole  device  when  we  are  in  my 
coach,  which,  waits  for  us  at  the  park  gates.  Hasten,  for 
we  must  measure  twenty  miles  to-day." 


A  Pound  of  Flesh 

In  the  Court  of  Justice  at  Venice  a  great  trial  was  to 
take  place.  Shy  lock  the  Jew  claimed  the  forfeit  of  his 
bond.  Antonio  had  signed  the  agreement  that,  if  he 
failed  to  repay  the  loan  of  three  thousand  ducats  by  a 
certain  date,  the  penalty  was  to  be  a  pound  of  his  own 
flesh,  cut  off  from  whatever  part  of  his  body  the  Jew 
pleased. 

Antonio  had  failed  to  repay  the  money,  and  Shylock 
insisted  on  the  terms  of  the  bond  being  carried  out  to 
the  very  letter. 

Terrible  as  this  alternative  was,  there  was  no  evading 
it.  The  Duke  of  Venice  himself  had  to  admit  that,  if 
Shylock  chose  to  exact  the  penalty,  there  was  no  law 

119 


The    Merchant    of  Venice 

of  Venice  that  could  prevent  him.  In  this  extremity 
the  Duke  sent  for  the  learned  doctor,  Bellario,  at  Padua, 
to  come  and  help  them  with  his  counsel,  but  when  the 
Court  opened  Bellario  had  not  yet  arrived. 

The  Duke  entered  and  took  his  seat.  He  looked  round 
at  the  assembled  people. 

"  What  !  is  Antonio  here  ?" 

"  Read}^,  so  please  your  grace,"  came  back  the  quiet 
answer,  and  Antonio  stepped  forward  from  the  place 
where  he  stood  surrounded  by  a  little  band  of  friends. 
Bassanio  was  there,  and  Gratiano,  and  many  others, 
who  had  come  to  show  their  sympathy  with  the  merchant, 
though  they  could  not  help  him  in  his  dire  extremit}^ 

The  Duke  spoke  a  few  words  to  Antonio,  saying  how 
sorry  he  was  to  find  him  in  the  power  of  such  a  terrible 
adversary,  to  which  Antonio  replied,  with  quiet  dignity, 
that  since  Shylock  was  relentless,  and  that  no  lawful  means 
could  save  him,  he  was  prepared  to  suffer  patiently. 

Then  Shylock  was  called  into  court,  and  the  Duke 
began  the  trial  b}'  making  an  appeal,  to  him  for  micrc}/. 
All  the  world,  he  said,  thought  that  Shylock  only  intended 
to  carry  his  apparent  malice  up  to  the  hour  of  execution, 
and  that  then,  at  the  last  moment,  he  would  show  his 
mercy  and  remorse,  and  not  only  forego  the  forfeiture, 
but  also  forgive  a  portion  of  the  loan,  because  of  the 
enormous  losses  which  had  lately  fallen  on  Antonio. 

"  We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew,"  concluded  the 
Duke. 

Grim,  stony,  immovable,  Shylock  had  listened  to  the 
Duke's  appeal.  The  time  for  passionate  frenzy  was 
past ;  his  venomed  rage  had  settled  down  into  a  cold, 

120 


A    Pound    of   Flesh 

calm  hatred.  One  determination  possessed  him,  and 
there  was  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man  to  alter  it — he 
would  have  his  bond.  He  answered  the  Duke  quietty, 
but  with  absolute  decision.  He  was  offered  twice  the 
amount  of  his  loan. 

"  If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats  were  in  six 
parts,  and  every  part  a  ducat,  I  would  not  draw  them  ;  I 
would  have  my  bond,"  was  his  answer  to  this  offer. 

The  Duke  asked  him  how  he  could  hope  for  mercy, 
since  he  rendered  none. 

"  What  judgment  shall  I  dread,  doing  no  wrong  ?" 
was  Shylock's  retort.  "  The  pound  of  flesh  which  I 
demand  of  the  merchant  is  dearly  bought  ;  it's  mine,  and 
I  will  have  it.  I  stand  here  for  justice.  Answer  :  shall 
I  have  it  ?" 

As  far  as  the  decrees  of  Venice  were  concerned,  Shylock 
had  the  law  on  his  side,  and  the  Duke  dared  not  go  against 
them.  He  had  power,  however,  to  defer  the  trial,  and  he 
was  thinking  of  doing  this,  when  he  was  told  that  a 
messenger  had  arrived  from  Padua,  with  letters  from 
Bellario.  The  Duke  bade  that  the  messenger  should  be 
called  into  court,  and  Nerissa  entered,  dressed  like  a 
lawyer's  clerk. 

The  letter  from  Bellario  stated  that  he  was  too  ill  to 
come  himself,  but  that  he  had  sent  in  his  place  a  very  wise 
and  learned  young  doctor,  whom  he  had  thoroughly 
instructed  in  the  case,  and  whose  wonderful  skill  and 
judgment  could  be  thoroughly  relied  on.  The  letter 
ended  by  saying  that  the  Duke  must  not  mistrust  the 
new-comer  because  of  his  lack  of  years,  for  Bellario 
"  never  knew  so  young  a  body  with  so  old  a  head." 

121 


The    Merchant    of  Venice 

It  was  well  Bellario  had  given  this  warning,  for  surely 
no  younger-looking  Doctor  of  Laws  had  ever  entered  the 
Court  of  Justice.  Portia's  locks  of  sunny  gold  were 
hidden  away  beneath  the  doctor's  cap,  but  nothing  could 
conceal  the  youth  and  beauty  of  her  face.  No  token  of 
hesitation  or  inexperience,  however,  was  visible  in  her 
handling  of  the  case.  She  plunged  at  once  into  the  heart 
of  the  matter. 

Her  first  step  was  to  appeal  to  Shylock  on  the  score  of 
mercy,  and  in  words  of  the  most  moving  eloquence  she 
tried  to  soften  the  Jew's  hard  heart,  and  to  show  him 
that  higher  even  than  the  Justice  which  he  claimed  was 
the  quality  of  Mercy.  But  Shylock  stood  there  rigid  ; 
he  might  have  been  cut  in  granite  for  any  effect  that 
Portia's  words  had  on  him. 

"  I  crave  the  law,  the  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond," 
came  the  usual  stubborn  response. 

Then  Portia  asked  if  Antonio  had  not  money  to  dis- 
charge the  debt.  Yes,  rephed  Bassanio,  it  was  there 
ready  in  the  court — yea,  twice  the  sum.  If  that  would 
not  suffice,  he  would  bind  himself  to  pay  it  ten  times  over. 
If  this  did  not  satisfy  the  Jew,  it  was  quite  evident  that 
he  was  acting  through  sheer  malice  ;  and  Bassanio 
besought  the  learned  young  doctor  to  wrest  the  law  just 
a  little  on  this  occasion,  and,  in  order  to  do  a  great  right, 
do  a  little  wrong. 

"  It  must  not  be,"  replied  Portia.  Nothing  could  alter 
an  established  decree,  for  many  an  error  by  the  same 
example  might  creep  into  the  State.  The  law  must  be 
kept  ;  the  bond  must  be  fulfilled  to  the  very  letter. 

"  A  Daniel  come  to  judgment  !"  cried  the  triumphant 

122 


A    Pound    of   Flesh 

Shylock.      "  0   wise    young    judge,    how   I    do  honour 
thee  !" 

The  friends  of  Antonio  stood  silent  in  dismay.  Even 
Gratiano,  who  had  been  loud  in  denunciation  of  the  Jew's 
savage  cruelty,  had  no  words  now. 

The  bond  was  forfeit,  Portia  continued,  and  the  Jew 
had  the  right  to  exact  the  penalty  if  he  chose.  But  her 
winning  voice  still  pleaded  : 

"  Be  merciful  !  Take  thrice  thy  money,  bid  me  tear 
the  bond." 

"  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor,"  was  the  grim 
reply. 

Antonio  saw  that  all  hope  was  over  ;  there  was  no  use 
in  prolonging  the  discussion. 

"  Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court  to  give  the  judg- 
ment," he  said  earnestly. 

But  even  when  acknowledging  that  the  sentence  must 
be  carried  out,  Portia  fought  every  inch  of  the  way  to 
secure  some  small  concession  for  the  unhappy  merchant. 
Shylock  had  brought  a  knife  into  the  court  to  cut  the 
pound  of  flesh,  and  scales  to  weigh  it,  but  he  had  provided 
no  surgeon  to  dress  the  wound  afterwards.  Portia  begged 
that  he  would  provide  one,  if  only  out  of  charity.  Was 
it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  ?  No.  Therefore  Shylock 
declined.  Not  the  smallest  point  would  he  concede. 
The  bond  should  be  kept  to  the  very  letter. 

Ah,  if  Shylock  had  only  known  what  a  pitfall  he  was 
digging  for  himself  by  insisting  on  this  point  ! 

In  a  clear,  firm  voice  Portia  began  to  pronounce 
sentence.  A  pound  of  the  merchant's  flesh  was  Shylock's; 
the  court  awarded  it,  and  the  law  gave  it.     The  flesh 

123 


The    Merchant    of    Venice 

was  to  be  cut  off  from  his  breast — ("nearest  his  heart,"  as 
Shylock  had  savagely  stipulated) — the  law  allowed  it,  and 
the  court  awarded  it. 

"  Most  learned  judge  !  A  sentence !  Come,  prepare  !" 
cried  Shylock  ;  and,  rattling  his  scales,  he  darted  forward, 
knife  in  hand,  upon  the  merchant. 

But  Portia's  voice  rang  through  the  court, — "  Tarry  a 
little  :  there  is  something  else  !" 

Shylock  stood  still,  aghast  ;  Antonio's  friends  looked 
up  with  sudden  hope.  It  was  Portia's  turn  now  to  keep 
to  the  letter  of  the  law.  The  bond  gave  no  mention  of 
the  word  "  blood  "  ;  the  words  expressly  were  "  a  pound 
of  flesh."  Let  Shylock,  then,  take  his  bond,  his  pound  of 
flesh  ;  but  if  in  the  cutting  it  he  shed  one  drop  of  Christian 
blood,  his  lands  and  goods  were,  by  the  laws  of  Venice, 
confiscate  to  the  State  of  Venice. 

"  Is  that  the  law  ?"  gasped  Shylock ;  and  Portia 
answered  that  he  should  see  the  act  for  himself.  As  he 
had  urged  "  justice,"  let  him  be  assured  he  should  have 
justice,  more  than  he  desired. 

"  O  learned  judge  !"  cried  Gratiano,  mocking  Shylock's 
former  words  of  praise.     "  Mark,  Jew,  a  learned  judge  !" 

"  Pay  the  bond  thrice  and  let  the  Christian  go,"  said 
Shylock. 

"  Here  is  the  money,"  said  Bassanio  eagerly ;  but 
Portia  held  up  her  hand. 

"  Soft  !  The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice.  Soft,  no 
haste  !     He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty." 

Shylock  was  to  cut  off  his  pound  of  flesh,  but  he  was  to 
shed  no  blood.  Nor  was  he  to  cut  more  or  less  than  just 
one  pound.     If  he  cut  more  or  less  than  a  just  pound — 

124 


A    Pound    of    Flesh 

"  If  the  scale  turns  even  by  the  weight  of  a  hair,  thou 
diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate,"  pronounced 
Portia. 

"  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go,"  said  Shylock. 

"  I  have  it  ready  for  thee  ;  here  it  is,"  said  Bassanio, 
again  holding  out  the  bags  of  gold  ;  and  again  Portia 
stayed  him. 

"  He  has  refused  it  in  the  open  court  ;  he  shall  have 
merely  justice  and  his  bond." 

"  Shall  I  not  have  barely  my  principal  ?"  demanded  the 
cowed  Shylock. 

"  Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture,  to  be  so 
taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew." 

"  Why,  then,  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it  !  I'll  stay 
no  further  question,"  cried  Shylock,  turning  to  leave  the 
Court  in  a  fury  of  baffled  rage  and  spite. 

But  he  was  not  to  get  off  so  easily.  The  law  had  still 
another  hold  on  him.  He,  being  an  alien,  had  offended 
against  the  laws  of  Venice  by  seeking  the  life  of  a  citizen. 
The  penalty  for  this  was  that  half  his  goods  went  to  the 
citizen,  the  other  half  to  the  coffers  of  the  State,  and  the 
offender's  life  lay  at  the  mercy  of  the  Duke. 

Stunned  and  crushed  by  this  sudden  calamitous  turn 
of  affairs,  Sh}/lock  listened.  All  through  the  trial  he  had 
claimed  nothing  but  "  justice  "  ;  he  had  insisted  that  the 
very  letter  of  the  law  should  be  fulfilled.  The  measure  he 
had  meted  out  to  Antonio  was  now  to  be  measured  out  for 
himself.  But  the  Duke  of  Venice  was  merciful  enough  to 
pardon  Shylock's  life  before  he  asked  it.  As  for  his  wealth, 
half  of  it  would  go  to  Antonio,  the  other  half  to  the  State, 
but  humbleness  might  remit  the  latter  into  a  fine, 

127 


The    Merchant    of   Venice 

"  Nay,  take  my  life  and  all  :  pardon  not  that,"  said 
Shylock,  half  dazed.  '*  You  take  my  house  when  you  take 
the  prop  that  sustains  it  ;  you  take  my  life  when  you 
take  the  means  whereby  I  live." 

Antonio  said  he  would  resign  half  the  money  due  to 
him,  provided  Shylock  would  let  him  keep  the  other  half 
ill  use,  to  render  it  at  Shylock's  death  to  the  husband  of 
his  daughter  Jessica.  Further,  for  this  favour  Shylock 
was  to  do  two  things  :  he  was  to  give  up  his  Jewish 
religion,  and  he  was  to  make  a  will,  leaving  all  his  posses- 
sions to  Lorenzo  and  his  daughter. 

"He  shall  do  this,"  said  the  Duke,  "or  else  I  will 
recant  the  pardon  which  I  lately  granted." 

"  Art  thou  contented,  Jew  ?  What  dost  thou  say  ?" 
asked  Portia. 

And  what  was  left  for  Shylock  to  answer  ?  Baffled  of 
his  revenge,  stripped  of  his  wealth,  forced  to  disown  his 
faith,  his  very  life  forfeited — a  hated,  despised,  miserable 
old  man — he  stood  alone  amidst  the  hostile  throng. 
Not  one  face  looked  at  him  kindly,  not  one  voice  was 
raised  in  his  behalf.  Twice  he  strove  to  speak,  and  twice 
he  failed.  Then,  in  a  hoarse  whisper  through  the  parched 
lips,  came  the  faltering  words  : 

"  I — am — content." 


The  Two  Rings 

Shylock,  crushed  and  beaten,  had  left  the  court, 
followed  by  the  yells  and  hooting  of  the  crowds  collected 
to  hear  the  result  of  the  trial,  and  Antonio  and  his  friends 

128 


The    Two    Rings 

hastened  to  express  their  warmest  gratitude  to  the  young 
Doctor  of  Laws  who  had  so  skilfully  conducted  the  case. 
They  begged  him  to  accept  a  handsome  fee,  but  he  refused 
to  take  any  money  payment  for  his  services.     Bassanio 


And  for  your  love  I'll  take  this  ring  from  you." 


insisted  that  he  must  certainly  accept  some  remembrance, 
not  as  a  fee,  but  as  a  tribute  of  their  gratitude. 

Thus  urged,  the  young  doctor  yielded.  He  looked  at 
Antonio. 

*'  Give  me  your  gloves  ;  I'll  wear  them  for  your  sake." 

129  1 


The    Merchant    of   Venice 

Then,  to  Bassanio  :    "  And  for  your  love  I'll  take  this 
ring  from  you." 

But  Bassanio  drew  back.  He  began  to  make  excuses  ; 
the  ring  was  a  trifle,  he  would  not  shame  himself  by  offering 
it  ;  it  had  been  given  to  him  by  his  wife,  etc.  The  more 
reluctant  he  showed  himself,  the  more  the  young  doctor 
insisted.  Finally  he  went  off  apparently  in  deep  offence. 
Then  Antonio  urged  Bassanio  to  give  him  what  he  asked, 
because  of  the  services  he  had  done,  and  Gratiano  was 
sent  after  him  to  present  the  ring  to  him. 

Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  meanwhile,  had  been  staying 
at  Belmont,  but  they  were  very  glad  to  welcome  back 
the  lady  of  the  house.  It  was  a  lovely  moonlight  night 
when  Portia  and  Nerissa  came  home.  Sweet  music  was 
sounding,  and  all  was  peace  and  beauty.  Their  return 
was  speedily  followed  by  the  arrival  of  Bassanio,  Antonio, 
and  Gratiano.  All  was  rejoicing,  but  in  the  midst  of  the 
general  gladness  sounds  of  discord  were  heard.  Gratiano 
and  his  wife  were  having  a  hot  dispute. 

"  A  quarrel  already  ?  What's  the  matter  ?"  asked  Portia. 

"  It's  about  a  paltry  ring  that  Nerissa  gave  me,  with 
a  motto  for  all  the  world  like  cutlers'  poetry  upon  a 
knife,  '  Love  me  and  leave  me  not,' "  said  Gratiano. 

"  Why  do  you  talk  of  the  motto  or  the  value  ?"  cried 
Nerissa.  "  You  swore  to  me  when  I  gave  it  you  that  you 
would  wear  it  till  the  hour  of  death,  and  that  it  should 
lie  with  you  in  your  grave.  Even  if  not  for  my  sake, 
yet  because  of  your  oath,  you  ought  to  have  held  it  in 
respect,  and  kept  it.  Gave  it  to  a  judge's  clerk !  No,  in- 
deed, the  clerk  that  had  it  v/iU  never  wear  hair  on  his  face!" 

130 


The    Two    Rings 


"  Yes,  he  will,  if  he  lives  to  be  a  man." 

"  Ay,  if  a  woman  lives  to  be  a  man  !"  said  Nerissa 
scornfully. 

"  Now,  by  this  hand,  I  gave  it  to  a  youth,"  protested 
the  exasperated  Gratiano ;  "a  kind  of  boy — a  little 
scrubby  boy,  no  higher  than  yourself,  the  judge's  clerk, 
a  prating  boy  that  begged  it  as  a  fee.  I  could  not  find  it 
in  my  heart  to  deny  him." 

"  You  were  to  blame,  Gratiano — T  must  be  plain  with 
you — to  part  so  lightly  with  your  wife's  first  gift," 
said  Portia  gravely.  "  I  gave  my  love  a  ring,  and  made 
him  swear  never  to  part  with  it,  '  she  added,  looking 
tenderly  at  Bassanio.  "  Here  he  stands.  I  dare  be 
sworn  he  would  not  give  it  from  his  finger  for  all  the 
wealth  contained  in  the  world,  Now,  in  faith,  Gratiano, 
you  have  given  your  wife  unkind  cause  for  grief.  If  it 
were  me,  T  should  be  mad  about  it." 

How  pleasant  for  Bassanio  to  hear  this  ! 

"  I  were  best  to  cut  my  left  hand  off,  and  swear  I  lost 
the  ring  defending  it,"  he  thought  ruefully. 

"  My  lord  Bassanio  gave  his  ring  to  the  judge,  who 
indeed  well  deserved  it,"  said  Gratiano,  in  self-excuse. 
"And  then  the  boy,  his  clerk,  who  took  some  pains  in 
writing,  he  begged  mine.  And  neither  man  nor  master 
would  take  anything  else  but  the  two  rings." 

"  What  ring  did  you  give,  my  lord  ?"  asked  Portia. 
"Not,  I  hope,  the  one  you  received  from  me." 

"  If  I  could  add  a  lie  to  the  fault,  I  would  deny  it," 
said  Bassanio.  "  But,  you  see,  my  finger  has  not  the 
ring  upon  it  ;  it  is  gone." 

Portia,  on  hearing  this,  pretended  to  get  very  angry 

131  I   2 


The    Merchant    of   Venice 

and  jealous,  and  no  excuses  that  Bassanio  made  could 
appease  her. 

"  Sweet  Portia,"  he  said,  "  if  you  knew  to  whom  I  gave 
the  ring,  if  you  knew  for  whom  I  gave  the  ring,  and  would 
understand  for  what  I  gave  the  ring,  and  how  unwillingly 
I  left  the  ring,  when  nothing  would  be  accepted  but  the 
ring,  you  would  abate  the  strength  of  your  displeasure." 

"  If  you  had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring,"  retorted 
Portia,  "  or  half  her  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring,  or 
your  own  honour  to  retain  the  ring,  you  would  not  then 
have  parted  with  the  ring." 

Portia  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  fun  of  teasing  her 
husband,  and  she  and  Nerissa  made  the  poor  men  quite 
unhappy  before  the  secret  was  revealed.  Finally  Antonio, 
distressed  at  the  discord  which  he  imagined  he  had 
brought  between  husband  and  wife,  interceded  for 
Bassanio,  and  Portia  allowed  herself  to  be  soothed, 

"  Since  you  will  be  surety  for  him,"  she  said  to  Antonio, 
"  give  him  this  ring,  and  bid  him  keep  it  better  than  the 
other." 

"  By  heaven  it  is  the  same  I  gave  the  doctor  !"  cried 
Bassanio. 

So  all  ended  happily.  The  m^'stery  was  explained, 
and  Bassanio  and  Gratiano  were  duly  forgiven.  To  add 
to  the  general  pleasure,  news  reached  Portia  that  three 
of  Antonio's  argosies  had  come  safely  to  harbour,  so, 
after  all,  he  was  no  longer  a  bankrupt,  but  once  again 
a  rich  and  prosperous  merchant  of  Venice. 


132 


Oliver  and  Orlando 


EEP  in  the  Forest  of  Arden  lived  a  merry 
company.  The  Duke  of  that  country, 
banished  by  his  usurping  brother 
Frederick,  had  taken  refuge  among  the 
green  woods,  and  there,  far  from  the 
pomp  and  envious  clamour  of  Court,  he 
lived  happily  with  a  few  faithful  followers.  Custom  had 
made  this  new  life  sweeter  than  the  old  one  of  showy 
state.  Here  were  no  fawning  courtiers,  no  slander  and 
intrigue  ;  the  only  hardships  were  those  of  the  changing 
seasons.  Even  when  the  keen  winds  of  winter  made  the 
Duke  shrink  with  cold,  he  would  smile  and  say  :  "  This 
is  no  flattery  ;  these  are  counsellors  that  make  me  feel 
really  what  I  am  ;"  and  the  biting  blast  seemed  to  him 
less  cruel  than  the  falsehood  and  ingratitude  of  men. 

133 


As    You    Like    It 

Not  far  from  the  forest  was  the  house  that  had  formerly 
belonged  to  a  good  gentleman — Sir  Rowland  de  Boys. 
Dying,  Sir  Rowland  had  left  all  his  possessions  to  his  eldest 
son,  Oliver,  excepting  one  thousand  crowns,  which  was  to 
go  to  the  youngest  son,  Orlando.  Sir  Rowland,  however, 
had  charged  Oliver  to  bring  up  his  two  brothers  carefully. 
Oliver  had  sent  the  second  son,  Jaques,  to  school,  where 
the  boy  did  well  ;  but  his  youngest  brother,  Orlando,  he 
kept  at  home,  leaving  him  utterly  neglected  and  without 
any  sort  of  training.  Not  only  did  Oliver  do  nothing  at 
all  for  his  brother,  but  he  even  tried  to  take  away  what 
advantages  Orlando  possessed  by  nature.  He  made  him 
feed  with  the  servants,  debarred  him  his  place  as  brother, 
and  in  every  way  possible  seemed  to  aim  at  unfitting  him 
for  his  position  as  a  gentleman. 

Orlando  was  indignant  at  such  treatment,  and  at  last 
he  rebelled  openly,  declaring  he  would  endure  such  servi- 
tude no  longer.  There  was  an  angry  dispute  between  the 
young  men,  in  which  Oliver,  as  usual,  tried  to  bully  his 
brother  into  submission.  But  Orlando's  spirit  was  up. 
Stung  to  fury  by  Oliver's  insults,  he  seized  hold  of  him, 
and  compelled  him  to  listen  to  what  he  had  to  say.  A 
faithful  old  servitor  of  their  father's  interposed,  and  tried 
to  make  peace,  but  Orlando  was  determined  not  to 
yield. 

"  You  shall  hear  me,"  he  said,  as  Ohver  struggled  to  free 
himself.  "  My  father  charged  you  in  his  will  to  give  me 
a  good  education.  You  have  trained  me  like  a  peasant, 
hiding  from  me  all  gentleman-like  qualities.  The  spirit 
of  my  father  grows  strong  in  me,  and  I  will  no  longer 
endure  it.     Therefore  allow  me  such  exercises  as  becomes 

134 


Oliver    and    Orlando 

a  gentleman,  or  give  me  the  poor  portion  my  father  left 
me  in  his  will,  and  with  that  I  will  go  seek  my  fortune." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  it  ?  Beg,  when  that  is 
spent  ?"  sneered  Oliver.  "  Well,  sir,  get  you  in  ;  I  will 
not  be  troubled  with  you  much  longer.  You  shall  have 
part  of  what  you  wish.  I  pray  you,  leave  me."  And 
then,  turning  to  the  old  servant  Adam,  he  added  savagely, 
"  Get  you  with  him,  you  old  dog  !" 

"  Is  '  old  dog  '  my  reward  ?"  said  Adam  sadly.  "  Most 
true,  I  have  lost  my  teeth  in  your  service.  God  be  with  my 
old  master  !     He  would  not  have  spoken  such  a  word." 

But  Oliver  had  a  plan  for  getting  rid  of  this  younger 
brother,  and  that  without  expending  a  thousand  crowns. 
Charles,  the  wrestler  of  the  usurping  Duke,  was  to  show 
his  skill  the  following  day  at  Court,  and  Oliver  knew  it 
was  Orlando's  intention  to  try  a  match  with  this  famous 
athlete.  This  report  had  also  privately  reached  the  ears 
of  the  wrestler.  Charles  was  a  most  powerful  opponent, 
deadly  in  skill  and  strength.  Being  a  friend  of  Ohver's, 
and  not  wishing  to  harm  the  young  Orlando,  he  came 
to  Oliver's  house  to  warn  him  to  dissuade  his  brother  from 
making  the  attempt,  or  at  least  to  let  him  know,  in  the 
event  of  any  injury  happening  to  Orlando,  that  it  would 
be  entirely  of  the  boy's  own  seeking,  and  altogether  against 
Charles's  will. 

Oliver  thanked  Charles  for  his  kind  thought,  and  said 
he  had  himself  tried  by  every  means  to  dissuade  Orlando, 
but  that  he  was  resolute. 

"  I  tell  you,  Charles,  he  is  the  stubborn  est  young  fellow 
in  France,"  Oliver  said  maliciously,  "  full  of  ambition, 
envious  of  every  man's  good  parts,  a  secret  and  villainous 

135 


As    You    Like    It 

contriver  against  me,  his  own  brother.  Therefore  use 
your  discretion.  I  had  as  hef  you  broke  liis  neck  as  his 
finger.  And  you  had  better  be  on  your  guard,  for  if  you 
do  him  any  sHght  disgrace,  or  if  he  fails  to  win  glory  for 
himself,  he  will  practise  against  you  by  poison,  entrap 
you  by  some  treacherous  device,  and  never  leave  you 
till  he  has  taken  your  life  by  some  indirect  means  or 
other.  For  I  assure  you — and  I  speak  it  almost  with 
tears — there  is  no  one  living  at  this  day  so  young  and 
so  villainous." 

Charles  was  naturally  shocked  to  hear  such  a  bad 
account  of  Orlando. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  I  came  to  you,"  he  said.  "  If 
he  comes  to-morrow  I'll  give  him  his  payment;"  and 
away  he  went,  vowing  to  punish  Orlando. 

"  Now  I'll  stir  up  the  youngster,"  thought  Oliver.  "  I 
nope  I  shall  soon  see  the  end  of  him,  for,  though  I  don't 
know  why,  I  have  an  absolute  hatred  of  the  boy.  Yet 
he  is  gentle  ;  never  schooled,  and  yet  learned  ;  full  of 
noble  device  ;  enchantingly  beloved  by  everyone — in- 
deed, so  much  in  the  hearts  of  all,  especially  of  my  own 
people,  that  I  am  altogether  thrown  in  the  shade.  But 
it  shall  not  be  so  long  ;  this  wrestler  will  put  all  right. 
Nothing  remains  but  to  make  the  boy  more  eager  for  the 
wrestling,  and  that  I'll  go  and  do  at  once." 

Rosalind  and  Celia 

When  the  rightful  Duke  was  sent  into  banishment, 
Frederick,  the  usurping  Duke,  allowed  his  daughter 
Rosalind  to  stay  on  at  Court,  to  be  a  companion  to  his 

136 


Rosalind    and    Celia 

own  young  daughter  Celia.  The  cousins  had  been  brought 
up  together  from  their  cradles,  and  were  so  devoted  to  each 
other  that  if  Rosahnd  had  been  sent  into  banishment 
CeHa  would  either  have  followed  her  or  died  of  grief  at 
the  separation.  Celia  strove  by  all  the  means  in  her 
power  to  cheer  her  cousin's  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  her 
father,  and  assured  her  that  when  Duke  Frederick  died 
she  would  never  consent  to  be  his  heir,  but  would  imme- 
diately restore  to  Rosalind  all  that  he  had  wrongfully 
taken  away. 

Rosalind's  own  nature  was  too  bright  and  happy  to 
waste  time  in  useless  repining,  and  her  deep  affection  for 
her  cousin  made  her  respond  very  willingly  to  Celia's 
loving  attempts  at  consolation.  The  girls'  gay  wit  and 
merry  chatter  never  failed,  and  their  leisure  moments 
found  additional  food  for  entertainment  in  the  whimsical 
utterances  of  the  Court  fool,  or  jester.  Touchstone.  Under 
his  apparent  nonsense  often  lay  hidden  much  quaint 
philosophy,  and  Touchstone  found  his  fool's  motley  a 
convenient  cloak  for  levelling  many  a  sharp-edged  shaft 
of  truth  at  his  hearers. 

On  the  day  appointed  for  the  wrestling  match,  Rosalind 
and  Celia  were  among  the  spectators.  Charles  had 
already  shown  his  prowess  by  speedily  overthrowing  one 
after  the  other  three  goodly  young  men.  Now  they  all 
lay  on  the  ground  with  broken  ribs,  and  their  poor  old 
father  made  such  a  doleful  lament  over  his  three  sons 
that  all  the  beholders  took  his  part  and  wept  in 
sympathy. 

When  Orlando  appeared  as  the  next  champion,  there  was 
a  general  feeling  of  dismay  and  compassion.    What  chance 

137 


As    You    Like    It 

had  this  slender  lad  against  the  doughty  Charles  ?  Duke 
Frederick,  in  pity  for  his  youth,  would  fain  have  dissuaded 
him,  but  he  would  not  be  entreated.  Rosalind  and  Celia 
then  tried,  but  even  they  were  not  more  successful. 
Orlando  thanked  them  courteously,  but  refused  to  give 
up  the  attempt.  Since  their  entreaties  were  of  no  avail, 
the  only  thing  the  ladies  could  do  was  to  bestow  on  him 
their  best  wishes,  and  this  they  did  most  heartily. 

The  result  was  a  surprise  to  all.  Orlando  was  the  victor, 
and  this  time  it  was  the  redoubtable  Charles  who  was 
carried  senseless  from  the  field. 

Duke  Frederick  was  interested  enough  in  the  young 
wrestler  to  inquire  who  he  was,  but  was  far  from  pleased 
to  learn  he  was  a  son  of  Sir  Rowland  de  Boys.  Sir  Row- 
land was  an  honourable  gentleman,  but  he  had  been  no 
friend  to  the  usurping  Duke.  Rosalind's  father,  on  the 
contrary,  had  loved  Sir  Rowland  dearly,  and  by  the  rest 
of  the  world  he  had  been  equally  esteemed.  Celia  was 
hurt  by  her  father's  churlish  remarks  to  Orlando,  and 
tried  to  make  up  for  them  by  some  kind  and  gracious 
words.  Rosalind,  equally  moved,  took  a  chain  from  her 
neck  and  gave  it  to  the  young  victor. 

"  Gentleman,  wear  this  for  me,  one  out  of  suit  with 
fortune,  who  could  give  more  but  that  her  hand  lacks 
means." 

Orlando  would  fain  have  expressed  his  thanks,  but  some 
strange  feeling  held  him  speechless.  He  had  overcome 
the  mighty  Charles,  but  he  could  not  master  this  stronger 
champion.  He  was  still  musing  over  what  had  passed, 
when  one  of  the  lords-in-waiting,  Le  Beau,  came  to 
him,  and  counselled  him  in  friendship  to  leave  the  place 

138 


Rosalind    and    Celia 

at  once.     Duke  Frederick  had  taken  a  prejudice  against 
him,  and  was  Ukely  to  resent  everything  he  did. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Orlando.  "  Pray  tell  me  one 
thing — which  of  those  two  ladies  was  daughter  of  the 
Duke  who  was  here  at  the  wrestling  ?" 

Le  Beau  answered  that  it  was  the  smaller  of  the  two 
ladies.  The  other  was  the  daughter  of  the  banished 
Duke,  detained  by  her  usurping  uncle  to  keep  his  own 
daughter  company. 

"  But  I  can  tell  you,"  continued  Le  Beau,  "  that  lately 
this  Duke  Frederick  has  taken  a  violent  displeasure 
against  his  gentle  niece,  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
the  people  love  her  for  her  virtues,  and  pity  her  for  her 
good  father's  sake.  I  am  quite  sure  his  malice  against  the 
lady  will  suddenly  break  forth." 

Then  Le  Beau  took  a  courteous  farewell,  and  Orlando 
went  his  way,  lost  in  a  dream,  and  murmuring  "  Heavenly 
Rosalind  !" 

For  her  part,  Rosalind  had  been  equally  attracted  by 
the  gallant  young  wrestler,  and  when  Celia  began  to  rally 
her  about  her  pensive  looks,  she  was  quite  ready  to  admit 
the  truth. 

"  In  good  earnest,"  said  Celia,  "  is  it  possible  that  you 
should  suddenly  take  so  strong  a  liking  for  old  Sir  Row- 
land's youngest  son  ?" 

"  The  Duke,  my  father,  loved  his  father  dearly,"  urged 
Rosalind  in  self-excuse. 

"  Does  it  therefore  follow  that  you  should  love  his  son 
dearly  ?"  laughed  Celia.  "  By  this  sort  of  reasoning  / 
should  hate  him,  for  my  father  hated  his  father  dearly. 
And  yet  I  do  not  hate  Orlando." 

139 


As    You    Like    It 

"  No,  faith,  for  my  sake  do  not  hate  him  !"  said  Rosa- 
lind.    "  Love  him  because  T  do." 

The  cousins  were  interrupted  by  Duke  Frederick,  who 
entered  hurriedly,  his  eyes  full  of  anger.  What  Le  Beau 
foretold  had  come  to  pass.  The  Duke's  displeasure 
against  Rosalind  had  been  growing  for  some  time,  for 
he  was  jealous  at  her  being  so  universally  beloved,  and 
alarmed  for  the  safety  of  his  own  position.  Now,  in  a 
few  curt  words,  he  ordered  her  to  leave  the  Court,  saying 
that  if  in  ten  days'  time  she  were  still  found  within  twenty 
miles  of  it,  she  should  be  put  to  death.  Rosalind  was 
amazed  and  indignant,  but  all  appeals  were  useless. 
Celia  in  vain  tried  to  plead  for  her  cousin.  Duke 
Frederick  would  listen  to  no  reason.  He  declared  that 
Rosalind  was  a  traitor,  subtle  enough  to  steal  the  affec- 
tions of  the  people  away  from  Celia  herself,  and  that  once 
she  was  gone  Celia  would  shine  to  far  greater  advantage. 
The  sentence  he  pronounced  was  irrevocable.  Rosalind 
was  banished. 

"  Pronounce  that  sentence,  then,  on  me,  my  liege," 
said  Celia.     "  I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company." 

"  You  are  a  fool !"  was  the  Duke's  contemptuous  answer. 
Then  to  Rosalind  he  added  :  "  You,  niece,  provide  your- 
self ;  if  you  stay  longer  than  the  time,  you  die." 

When  her  father  left  them,  Celia  again  strove  to  cheer 
her  cousin.  She  utterly  refused  to  be  parted  from  her, 
insisted  on  sharing  her  griefs,  and  declared  that,  no  matter 
what  Rosalind  said,  she  intended  to  go  with  her. 

"  Why,  whither,  shall  we  go  ?"  asked  Rosalind. 

"  To  seek  my  uncle  in  the  Forest  of  Arden,"  replied  Ceha. 

This  was  a  good  suggestion,  and  in  order  to  avoid  the 

140 


Rosalind    and    Celia 


danger  of  two  high-born  and  beautiful  maidens  travelh'ng 
alone,  it  was  further  agreed  that  Celia  should  stain  her 
face  brown,   and  attire  herself  in  mean   apparel,  while 
Rosalind,    who    was    tall    of    stature, 
should    for    better    security,    disguise 
herself  as  a  youth,  armed  with  curtle- 
axe,  and  with  a  boar-spear  in  her  hand. 

"  Let  what  fear  there  will,  He  hidden 
in  my  woman's  heart,"  she  said  gaily, 
"  at  least  we'll  have  a  dashing  and  a 
martial  outside  !"  ^ 

In  their  new  guise  Rosalind 
declared  she  would  take  no 
worse  a  name  than  Jove's      |i 
own      page  —  Ganymede  ; 
while  Celia,  in  reference  to 
her    own    banished    state, 
thought  that  Aliena  would 
be  a  very  suitable  name  for 
herself. 

"  Cousin,"  said  Rosalind, 
"what  if  we  tried  to  steal 
the  clownish  fool  out  of 
your  father's  Court  ?  Would 
he  not  be  a  comfort  to  us 
in  our  travels  ?" 

Celia  was  delighted  with 
the  suggestion. 

"  Touchstone  would  go  with  me  all  over  the  wide 
world,"  she  said.  "  Leave  me  alone  to  manage  him. 
Now  let  us  go  and  get  our  money  and  jewels  together, 

141 


We'll  have  a  martial  outside  !" 


As    You    Like    It 

and  devise  the  fittest  time  and  safest  way  to  hide  from 
the  pursuit  that  will  be  made  when  my  flight  is  known. 
Come !  We  go  contentedly — to  liberty,  and  not  to  banish- 
ment !" 


In  the  Forest  of  Arden 

On  reaching  home  after  the  wrestling  match,  Orlando 
was  met  by  the  old  retainer,  Adam,  who  implored  him 
to  fly  at  once.  The  fame  of  his  victory  had  already 
reached  Oliver's  cars,  and  he  was  so  incensed  at  the  praises 
lavished  on  his  brother  that  he  was  quite  resolved  to 
do  away  with  him  by  some  means  or  other.  The  faith- 
ful old  man  went  on  to  say  he  had  five  hundred  crowns, 
saved  during  his  service  with  his  late  master,  and  he 
begged  Orlando  to  take  this  money,  and  also  to  let  him 
go  with  him  as  his  servant.  He  was  old,  he  said,  but  still 
strong  and  active,  and  could  serve  him  as  well  as  a  younger 
man. 

Orlando  was  deeply  touched  by  the  fidelity  and  devo- 
tion of  this  old  retainer,  and  willingly  agreed  to  his  request, 
saying  that  before  the  money  was  spent  they  would  doubt- 
less have  found  some  humble  means  of  support.  So  the 
outcasts  departed :  the  young  man  left  the  home  of  his 
father,  and  the  old  man  the  place  where  he  had  spent 
more  than  sixty  years  of  faithful  service. 

They  started  not  unhopefully,  but  matters  did  not  go 
well  with  them.  Scarcely  knowing  where  to  direct  their 
steps,  they  plunged  into  the  Forest  of  Arden,  and  there, 
in  the   depths  of  the  greenwood,   they  lost   their  way. 

142 


In    the    Forest    of   Arden 

Worn  out  with  fatigue,  almost  starving  for  food,  they  wan- 
dered on,  till  at  last  Adam's  strength  failed,  and  he  sank 
to  the  ground. 

"Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further.  Oh,  I  die  for 
food  !"  he  gasped.     "  Farewell,  kind  master  !" 

With  the  tenderest  words  Orlando  strove  to  cheer  the 
poor  old  man,  and,  carefully  placing  him  in  a  more  shel- 
tered spot,  he  dashed  off  almost  desperate  in  his  quest 
for  food. 

Not  far  off  in  the  forest  a  very  different  scene  was 
taking  place.  In  the  bright  days  of  early  summer  the 
days  slipped  pleasantly  past  with  the  banished  Duke 
and  his  little  band  of  faithful  followers.  Clad  in  their 
foresters'  garb,  and  living  the  simple  life  of  outlaws, 
they  hunted,  sang,  laughed,  and  feasted  under  the  green- 
wood tree.  The  most  notable  of  the  band  was  a  certain 
lord  called  Jaques,  who  had  been  a  brilliant  and  reckless 
courtier  in  his  early  days,  but  was  now  a  cynic  and 
philosopher,  half  sad,  half  satiric,  whose  moods  seemed 
to  vary  between  biting  humour  and  pensive  melancholy. 
He  had  a  sharp  tongue,  and  took  no  pains  to  make  himself 
agreeable,  but  his  quaint  moralisings  afforded  much 
entertainment  to  his  companions,  and  especially  to  the 
Duke. 

On  the  day  when  Orlando  and  Adam  were  starving  in 
one  part  of  the  forest,  the  Duke  and  his  band  were  having 
a  merry  time  in  another  part.  One  of  the  lords,  by  name 
Amiens,  could  sing  very  pleasingly,  and  he  now  led  a  ditty 
in  praise  of  their  woodland  life,  while  the  others  joined 
in  the  chorus : 


143 


As    You    Like    It 

"  Under  the  greenwood  tree 

Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 

And  turn  his  merry  note 

Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  . 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

"  Who  doth  ambition  shun 

And  loves  to  live  in  the  sun, 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats 

And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  : 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

The  banquet  was  spread,  and  the  Duke  had  taken  his 
place,  when  Jaques  came  up,  apparently  much  diverted 
with  something  he  had  just  seen. 

"  A  fool !  a  fool  !"  he  cried.  "  I  met  a  fool  in  the 
forest  !" 

The  cynical  lord  was  amused  to  find  a  fellow-philosopher 
under  the  motley  of  a  fool,  and  quoted  the  mangled 
scraps  of  moral  wisdom  he  had  let  fall,  with  much 
enjoyment. 

"  '  Good-morrow,  fool,'  quoth  I.  '  No,  sir,'  quoth  he, 
'  call  me  not  fool  till  heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune.'  Then 
he  drew  a  dial  from  his  pocket,  and,  looking  at  it  with 
his  dull  eyes,  said  very  wisely :  '  It  is  ten  o'clock.  Thus 
we  may  see  how  the  world  wags.  An  hour  ago  it  was 
nine  o'clock,  and.  in  another  hour  it  will  be  eleven. 
And  so  from  hour  to  hour  we  ripe  and  ripe,  and  so  from 
hour  to  hour  we  rot  and  rot,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale.'  " 

144 


In    the    Forest    of   Arden 

Jaques  was  greatly  diverted  at  the  idea  of  a  fool  in 
motley  moralising  thus  on  the  time,  and  declared  that 
henceforth  he  intended  to  don  a  fool's  dress  himself,  in 
order  that  he  might  have  the  privilege  that  fools  have,  of 
speaking  out  his  mind  freely  on  all  occasions. 

''  And  those  that  are  most  hurt  with  my  folly,"  he  said. 


nl",i!h 


"It  is  ten  o'clock." 


*'  they  most  must  laugh.  Dress  me  in  motley,  and  give 
me  leave  to  speak  my  mind,  and  I  will  guarantee  to  cure 
the  world  of  much  evil." 

The  Duke  would  not  agree  that  Jaques's  plan  for  re- 
forming the  world  was  a  good  one,  and  reminded  Jaques 
that  he  himself  was  anything  but  free  from  faults.  Jaques 

145  K 


As    You    Like    It 

still  held  to  his  opinion,  and  was  arguing  the  matter,  when 
their  discussion  was  interrupted  by  the  startling  appear- 
ance of  a  haggard  youth  with  a  drawn  sword,  who  de- 
manded food  in  the  most  peremptory  fashion,  and  threat- 
ened to  kill  anyone  who  attempted  to  eat  until  his  wants 
were  supplied. 

"  I  almost  die  for  food  ;  let  me  have  it !"  he  cried 
fiercely. 

"Sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  our  table,"  said 
the  Duke  kindly. 

V^hen  Orlando  saw  the  gentleness  of  the  Duke,  and 
thc.t  there  was  no  occasion  for  such  violence  on  his  part, 
he  softened  at  once,  asked  their  pardon,  and  explained 
that  he  had  only  put  on  this  stern  manner  of  command 
because  he  expected  to  find  everything  in  the  forest  rude 
and  savage.  He  implored  them,  if  ever  they  had  led  a 
gentle,  civilised  life,  and  knew  what  pity  was,  that  they 
would  refrain  from  eating  till  he  had  fetched  a  poor 
old  man,  who  was  spent  with  age  and  hunger.  Till  he 
was  first  satisfied,  Orlando  said,  he  would  not  touch 
a  bit. 

The  Duke  bade  Orlando  go  and  fetch  Adam,  and  when 
they  returned  he  made  them  sit  down  and  eat  before  he 
troubled  them  with  any  questions.  To  give  them  time 
to  recover,  he  called  for  some  music,  and  bade  Amiens 
sing. 

"  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen. 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 

146 


In    the    Forest    of   Arden 

"  Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  do-t  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot  ; 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remembered  not." 

While  the  song  was  being  sung,  Orlando  was  able  to 
tell  the  Duke,  in  a  low  voice,  a  little  of  his  story,  and  hear- 
ing that  he  was  the  son  of  his  dear  friend,  Sir  Rowland  de 
Boys,  the  Duke  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome,  and  carried 
him  off  to  his  own  cave  to  hear  the  rest  of  his  adventures. 
Old  Adam,  too,  was  made  right  welcome  ;  and  so,  for 
the  present,  he  and  his  master  contentedly  stayed  on 
with  the  outlaws. 

The  fool  whom  Jaques  had  met  in  the  forest  was 
Touchstone.  Like  Orlando  and  Adam,  the  other  party 
of  wanderers  were  very  weary  before  they  found  a  resting- 
place.  Rosalind  and  Celia,  attended  by  the  Court  jester, 
had  come  in  search  of  Rosalind's  father,  but  so  far  they 
had  found  no  trace  of  the  banished  Duke.  Celia  was 
tired  and  Touchstone  was  cross,  but  Rosalind  did  her 
best  to  encourage  her  companions. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  Forest  of  Arden,"  she  said  cheer- 
fully. 

'•  Ay,  now  I  am  in  Arden,"  grumbled  Touchstone. 
"The  more  fool  I!  When  I  was  at  home  I  was  in  a 
better  place  ;  but  travellers  must  be  content." 

"  Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone,"  counselled  Rosalind. 
"  Look  you,  who  comes  here  ;  a  young  man  and  an  old 
in  solemn  talk." 

The  newcomers  were  two  shepherds  called  Corin  and 

147  K  3 


As    You    Like    It 

Silvius.  The  young  man,  Silvius,  soon  went  away,  and 
then  Rosahnd  appealed  to  the  old  shepherd,  asking 
if  he  could  direct  them  to  any  place  where  they  could 
rest  themselves  and  get  something  to  eat. 

Corin  replied  that  he  would  gladly  have  helped  them 
if  he  could,  but  his  fortune  was  very  humble  ;  he  was 
only  shepherd  to  another  man,  and  did  not  own  the  flocks 
he  looked  after.  His  master  was  very  churlish  and  in- 
hospitable, and,  besides,  at  this  moment  his  cottage  and 
flocks  were  on  sale,  so  there  was  no  food  at  home  that  he 
could  offer  them.  However,  if  they  liked  to  come  and 
rest  in  the  cottage,  they  were  heartily  welcome. 

Rosalind  asked  who  was  going  to  buy  the  flock  and 
pasture.  Corin  replied  that  it  was  the  young  swain  who 
had  just  left  him,  and  who  cared  nothing  at  all  about  the 
matter. 

"  I  pray  you,  if  you  can  do  so  honestly,  buy  the  cottage, 
pasture,  and  flock,"  said  Rosalind,  "  and  we  will  give  you 
the  money  to  pay  for  them." 

"  And  we  will  mcrease  your  wages,"  added  Celia.  ''  I 
like  this  place,  and  would  willingly  spend  some  time  here." 

So  Celia  and  Rosalind,  still  attended  by  Touchstone, 
took  up  their  abode  in  the  shepherd's  cottage  ;  and  that 
was  how  the  cynical  lord  Jaques  happened  to  meet  the 
fool  in  the  forest. 


The  Shepherd  Youth 

Orlando,  in  his  new  life,  did  not  forget  the  lady  whom 
he  had  seen  at  the  wrestling  match,  and  who  had  so 
quickly  won  his  heart.     As  he  had  no  chance  of  speaking 

148 


The    Shepherd    Youth 


to  Rosalind,  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  show  his 
love  was  to  carve  her  name  on  all  the  trees,  and  per- 
petually to  write  verses  in  her  praise,  which 
he  hung  all  over  the  forest. 

"Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of 

love,"  he  would  say.     "0  Rosalind, 

these  trees  shall  be  my  books,  and  I  will 

trace  my  thoughts  in  their  bark,  so 

that  every    eye  which  looks  in 

this    forest    shall    see     your 

praise  everywhere." 

Rosalind  came  across  some 
of  these  papers,  and  won- 
dered greatly  who  the  person 
could  be  who  thus  carved  and 
hung  her  name  on  all  the 
trees ;  but  Celia,  who  had  also 
found  some  of  the  verses,  was 
able  to  enlighten  her,  for  she 
had  happened  to  see  the 
writer.  On  hearing  that  it 
was  really  Orlando,  Rosalind 
became  quite  excited,  and 
Celia  had  no  time  to  answer 
half  the  eager  questions 
showered  on  her  before  Or- 
lando himself  came  that 
way. 

Rosalind  now  for  the  first 
time    rather    regretted    her 
boy's  dress,  for,  of  course,  Orlando  did  not  recognise  the 

149 


"  Hang  there,  my  verse,  m 
witness  of  my  love." 


As    You    Like    It 

cousins  in  their  present  attire.  But,  at  any  rate,  m  the 
guise  of  a  saucy  youth  she  determined  to  have  a  httle 
fun,  and  presently  a  whimsical  idea  occurred  to  her  nimble 
brain.  Seeing  how  disconsolate  Orlando  was,  she  sug- 
gested to  him  that  she  should  pretend  to  be  really  his 
Rosalind,  and  that  he  should  address  all  his  affectionate 


Audrey,  the  goatherd. 

speeches  and  verses  to  her  exactly  in  the  same  way  as  he 
would  have  done  to  the  real  person.  If  he  did  this,  she 
said,  she  would  soon  cure  him  of  his  love. 

Orlando  replied  that  he  did  not  want  to  be  cured,  but, 
all  the  same,  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  go  every  day  to 
the  shepherd's  cottage,  and  talk  to  this  youth  as  if  he 
were  really   Rosalind.     The  plan   succeeded  admirably. 

150 


The    Shepherd    Youth 

Since  he  could  not  have  Rosahnd  herself,  it  pleased 
Orlando  to  be  always  talking  about  her,  and  he  did  not 
notice  how  much  in  earnest  this  half-jesting  companion- 
ship gradually  became. 

As  time  went  on,  the  exiles  from  Duke  Frederick's 
court  made  other  acquaintances  in  the  forest.  Touch- 
stone had  found  an  object  of  interest,  which  served  as  an 
excellent  butt  for  displaying  his  satire.  This  was  a  rustic 
goatherd,  called  Audrey,  a  simple,  not  bad-natured  girl, 
but  one  of  the  very  stupidest  and  most  ignorant  specimens 
of  humanity  possible  to  imagine.  Touchstone  seemed  to 
be  quite  fascinated  by  her  extreme  silliness,  and  out  of 
sheer  perversity  declared  he  meant  to  marry  her.  As  for 
Audrey,  she  was  perfectly  unconscious  of  any  ridicule 
he  chose  to  lavish  on  her,  and  followed  Touchstone  about 
like  a  willing  little  slave. 

Rosalind  and  Celia,  also,  had  come  across  Jaques,  and 
the  latter  would  willingly  have  become  closer  friends 
with  the  shepherd  youth,  but  Rosalind's  sunny  nature 
had  nothing  in  sympathy  with  this  cynic. 

"  They  say  you  are  a  melancholy  fellow,"  she  said  one 
day,  m  answer  to  a  suggestion  from  Jaques  that  they 
should  become  better  acquainted. 

"  I  am  so  ;  I  love  it  better  than  laughing,"  he  replied. 
"  It  is  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing." 

"Why,  then,  it's  good  to  be  a  post,"  remarked  Rosalind. 

There  were  many  different  kinds  of  melancholy,  Jaques 
explained,  such  as  the  scholar's,  the  musician's,  the 
courtier's,  the  soldier's,  etc. ;  his,  however,  was  a  melan- 
choly of  his  own,  compounded  of  many  different  in- 
gredients, but  especially  due  to  reflections  over  his  travels. 

151 


As    You    Like    It 

"  Yes,  I  have  gained  my  experience,"  he  ended,  with 
mournful  satisfaction. 

"  And  your  experience  makes  you  sad  ?"  quoth  Rosa- 
lind. "  I  would  rather  have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry  than 
experience  to  make  me  sad.     And  to  travel  for  it  too  V 

But  the  joyous,  free  life  of  th^  torest  was  drawing  to  a 
close,  though  much  happiness  was  still  in  store  for  those 
who  had  wandered  there.  A  day  came  when  Orlando 
for  once  failed  to  keep  his  tryst.  He  had  left  Rosalind, 
promising  to  return  within  an  hour,  but  in  his  stead  there 
came  to  the  two  cousins  a  stranger  bearing  a  handkerchief 
stained  with  blood.  Briefly  he  told  his  tale.  Orlando 
had  been  walking  through  the  forest,  when  he  saw  a 
wretched  man,  ragged  and  unkempt,  sleeping  under  a 
tree.  Round  his  neck  a  green  and  gilded  snake  had 
twined  itself,  and  its  head  was  ju:^  poised  to  strike, 
when,  seeing  Orlando,  it  glided  away  under  a  bush.  But 
the  peril  was  not  yet  over,  for  under  'hat  very  bush 
couched  a  famished  lioness,  watching  like  a  cat,  to  pounce 
on  the  sleeping  man  the  moment  he  should  stir.  And 
having  seen  this,  Orlando  approached,  and  found  it  was 
his  brother — his  eldest  brother. 

Remembering  the  cruel  way  in  which  Oliver  had  always 
treated  him,  his  first  impulse  was  to  leave  him.  to  his  fate, 
but  his  better  nature  conquered.  Orlando  did  battle 
with  the  lioness,  who  quickly  fell  before  him. 

"  And  in  the  noise  of  the  struggle  I  awakened  from  my 
miserable  slumber,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Are  you  his  brother  ?  Was  it  you  who  so  often 
plotted  to  kill  him  ?"  asked  Celia. 

152 


3 
O 
>> 


The    Shepherd    Youth 

"  It  was  1,  but  it  is  I  no  longer,"  said  Oliver. 

Orlando's  noble  behaviour  had  completely  overcome 
his  malicious  nature  ;  all  evil  thoughts  against  Orlando 
were  banished,  and  for  the  future  the  two  brothers  were 
the  best  of  friends. 

Oliver  was  made  welcome  by  the  Duke,  and  was  after- 
wards talking  to  Orlando  in  his  own  cave,  when  his  brother, 
calling  on  the  name  of  Rosalind,  suddenly  fainted.  His 
arm  had  been  badly  torn  by  the  lioness,  and  had  been 
bleeding  all  this  time.  Oliver  revived  him,  bound  up 
the  wound,  and  after  a  little,  Orlando,  being  brave  of 
heart,  begged  his  brother,  stranger  as  he  was,  to  find  his 
friends  at  the  shepherd's  cottage,  and  explain  to  them 
why  he  had  been  unable  to  keep  his  promise.  He  sent 
the  handkerchief  dyed  in  his  blood  to  the  shepherd  youth 
whom  he  had  called  in  sport  his  Rosalind. 

On  hearing  of  the  peril  through  which  Orlando  had 
passed,  Rosalind  was  so  moved  that  she  almost  betrayed 
herself  by  fainting.  Oliver  was  somewhat  astonished 
at  such  weakness  on  the  part  of  a  youth,  but  Rosalind 
tried  to  pretend  it  was  only  a  counterfeit.  Her  pale 
looks,  however,  showed  too  plainly  that  the  swoon  was 
no  counterfeit,  though  she  persisted  in  declaring  it  was, 
and  bade  Oliver  carry  back  word  to  Orlando  how  well 
she  had  pretended  to  faint. 

The  sweetness  and  grace  of  Celia  made  so  strong  an 
impression  on  Oliver  that  he  soon  fell  deeply  in  love  with 
her,  and  as  she  was  equall}.  attracted  by  him,  and  as  he 
was  now  quite  converted  from  his  former  evil  nature, 
it  was  agreed  they    should    be    married  without    delay. 

15.5 


As    You    Like    It 

Orlando  did  all  he  could  to  help  forv/ard  the  wedding, 
though  the  sight  of  his  brother's  good  fortune  made  hirn 
realise  only  more  clearly  his  own  unavailing  love  for 
Rosalind. 

"  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow,  and  I  will  bid  the 
Duke  to  the  nuptial,"  he  said.  "  But,  oh,  how  bitter  a  thing 
it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  another  man's  eyes !" 

"  Why,  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your  turn  for 
Rosalind  ?"  asked  the  real  Rosalind. 

"  I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking,"  said  Orlando. 

"  I  will  weary  you,  then,  no  more  with  idle  talking," 
said  Rosalind.  "  Know  now  that  I  speak  to  some  pur- 
pose. Believe,  if  you  please,  that  I  can  do  strange  things. 
I  have,  since  I  was  three  years  old,  conversed  with  a 
magician,  deeply  skilled  in  his  art.  If  you  love  Rosalind 
as  heartily  as  you  appear  to  do,  then,  when  your  brother 
marries  Aliena,  you  shall  marry  Rosalind.  I  know  into 
what  straits  of  fortune  she  is  driven,  and  it  is  not  impos- 
sible to  me,  if  it  does  not  seem  inconvenient  to  you,  to 
set  her  before  your  eyes  to-morrow,  human  as  she  is,  and 
without  any  danger." 

"  Do  you  speak  in  sober  earnest  ?"  demanded  Orlando, 
scarcely  able  to  credit  what  he  heard. 

"  I  do,  on  my  life — which  I  value  tenderly,  though  I  am 
a  magician.  Therefore  put  on  your  best  array,  invite 
your  friends :  for  if  you  will  be  married  to-morrow,  you 
shall ;  and  to  Rosalind  if  you  will." 

The  promise,  which  appeared  so  amazing  to  Orlando, 
was,  of  course,  easily  kept,  and  the  following  day,  when 
the  Duke  and  all  the  wedding  guests  assembled  to  witness 
Oliver's  wedding,  Rosalind  and  Celia  appeared    without 

156 


The    Shepherd    Youth 

their  disguise,  and  in  their  real  attire.  The  banished 
Duke  found  a  daughter,  and  Orlando  found  his  Rosalind. 

In  the  midst  of  the  wedding  festivities  arrived  the 
second  son  of  Sir  Rowland  de  Boys,  bearing  the  tidings 
that  Duke  Frederick  had  been  converted  by  a  religious 
man,  and  meant  to  leave  the  world  and  all  its  pomp.  He 
bequeathed  his  crown  to  his  banished  brother,  and  restored 
all  their  lands  to  the  lords  who  had  been  exiled  with  him. 

In  the  general  chorus  of  pleasure  there  was  only  one 
discordant  note .  J  aques  the  cynic — "  melancholy  J  aques ' ' 
— refused  to  join  m  the  harmless  mirth.  He  announced 
his  intention  of  following  Duke  Frederick  into  retirement. 
He  bade  the  others  all  follow  their  different  forms  of  en- 
joyment,— as  for  himself,  "  I  am  for  other  than  for  dancing 
measures,"  he  declared. 

"  Stay,  J  aques — stay,"  begged  the  Duke. 

"  Not  to  see  any  pastime,"  was  the  grim  response. 
"  If  you  want  anything,  I  will  stay  to  hear  it  at  your 
abandoned  cave." 

Like  King  Solomon  of  old,  Jaques  had  tasted  all  the 
pleasures  of  life,  and  had  delighted  in  studying  his  fellow- 
mortals  ;  but  his  stores  of  wit  and  wisdom  brought  him 
no  real  satisfaction.  "  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity," 
was  all  that  his  worldly  philosophy  had  taught  b^'m,  and 
his  sharp-eyed  cynicism  saw  only  the  base  and  ludicrous 
side  of  human  nature.  So  he  went  his  way,  rejecting 
the  kindly  fellowship  that  was  offered  him,  and  taking 
a  half-exultant  pride  in  his  own  loneliness  and  melancholy. 

But  the  Duke  ordered  the  rejoicings  to  proceed,  and 
the  green  glades  of  the  Forest  of  Arden  rang  with  the 
sound  of  song  and  laughter. 


The    Taming    of   the    Shrew 


A  Rough  Courtship 


ATHARINE  the  curst  !"  That  is  not 
a  pretty  title  for  a  maiden,  but  that 
was  the  nickname  given  to  one,  re- 
nowned all  through  Padua  for  her 
scolding  tongue. 

Baptista  Minola  had  two  daughters, 
both  young  and  beautiful,  but  very  different  in  disposition, 
for  while  Bianca,  the  younger,  was  so  sweet  and  gentle 
that  she  was  beloved  by  all,  the  elder  sister  Katharine 
had  such  a  violent  and  ungovernable  temper  that  every- 
one feared  and  disliked  her. 

Bianca  had  several  suitors,  but  Baptista,  her  father, 
was  firmly  resolved  not  to  allow  his  youngest  daughter 
to  marry  until  he  had  secured  a  husband  for  the  elder.     In 

158 


A    Rough    Courtship 

the  meantime  he  declared  Bianca  should  stay  qmtly 
at  home  ;  but  as  he  loved  his  daughter,  and  did  not  wan  , 
the  time  to  pass  heavily  with  her,  he  promised  to  provide 
schoolmasters,  to  instruct  her  in  the  studies  in  which  sh^ 
took  most  delight — music  and  poetry. 

Bianca  meekly  submitted  to  this  somewhat  hard 
decree,  but  two  of  her  suitors — Gremio  and  Hortensio— - 
were  very  indignant  that  she  should  be  kept  secluded  in 
this  fashion.  They  were  rivals  in  their  courtship,  but 
this  hindrance  to  them  both  made  them  friends.  They 
agreed  to  do  their  best  to  find  a  husband  for  Katharine, 
and  thus,  when  the  younger  sister  was  free  again,  to  set 
to  work  afresh  to  see  which  could  win  her. 

On  the  very  day  when  Baptista  announced  his  resolve, 
there  arrived  in  Padua  a  great  friend  of  Hortensio's, 
whose  name  was  Petruchio,  and  who  lived  in  Verona. 
Petruchio  told  Hortensio  that  his  father  was  dead,  and 
that  he  had  now  come  abroad  to  see  the  world.  He  had 
money  in  his  pockets,  possessions  at  home,  and  possibly 
he  would  marry  if  he  could  find  a  wife. 

Hortensio's  thoughts,  of  course,  at  once  flew  to  Katha- 
rine, and  half  in  jest  he  offered  to  supply  Petruchio  with 
a  wife,  shrewish  and  ill-favoured,  he  said,  but  rich — very 
rich. 

"  But  you  are  too  much  my  friend,"  he  concluded  ;  "  I 
could  not  wish  you  to  marry  her." 

Petruchio,  in  his  own  way,  was  as  perverse  and  self- 
willed  as  Katharine,  and  he  immediately  replied  that  the 
lady  might  be  old,  ugly,  and  as  great  a  shrew  as  Xantippe, 
wife  of  Socrates,  but  so  long  as  she  was  wealthy  he  was 
quite  ready  to  marry  her. 

159 


The    Taming    of   the    Shrew 

Seeing  his  friend  in  this  mood,  Hortensio  continued  m 
earnest  what  he  had  begun  in  jest. 

"  Petruchio,"  he  said,  "  I  can  help  you  to  a  wife,  with 
wealth  enough,  and  who  is  young  and  beautiful,  and 
brought  up  as  best  becomes  a  gentlewoman  ;  her  only 
fault,  and  that  is  fault  enough,  is  that  she  has  an  intoler- 
able temper,  and  is  so  violent  and  wayward,  beyond  all 
measure,  that  if  I  were  far  poorer  than  I  am  I  would  not 
wed  her  for  a  mine  of  gold." 

Petruchio,  however,  was  a  gentleman  of  valiant  dis- 
position and  most  determined  will,  and  he  was  not  in  the 
least  daunted  by  all  the  reports  he  heard  of  Katharine's 
terrible  temper. 

"  Do  you  think  a  little  noise  can  frighten  me  ?"  he 
said.  "  Have  I  not  in  my  time  heard  hons  roar  ?  Have 
I  not  heard  the  seas  puffed  up  with  wind,  rage  like  an 
angry  boar  ?  Have  I  not  heard  great  ordnance  in  the 
field,  and  heaven's  artillery  thunder  in  the  skies  ?  Have  I 
not  in  a  pitched  battle  heard  loud  alarums,  neighing  steeds, 
and  trumpets  clang,  and  do  you  tell  me  of  a  woman's 
tongue  ?     Tush,  tush  !     Frighten  boys  with  bogies  !" 

Bianca's  suitors  were  delighted  to  have  found  such  a 
match  for  Katharine,  and  the  lady's  father  was  equally 
pleased,  and  promised  a  handsome  dowry,  though  he  was 
rather  doubtful  of  Petruchio's  success  in  winning  his 
daughter.  But  it  soon  turned  out  Petruchio  had  not 
in  the  least  over-rated  his  powers. 

He  knew  that  kindness  and  soft  words  would  be  thrown 
away  in  dealing  with  such  a  nature  as  Katharme's  ;  she 
was  accustomed  to  everyone's  giving  in  to  her,  and  the 
very  gentleness  and  submission  of  Bianca   had  only  the 

1 60 


A    Rough    Courtship 

effect  of  irritating  her  more.  Petruchio  determined  to 
adopt  an  entirely  different  plan,  and  to  light  Katharine, 
as  it  were,  with  her  own  weapons.  Instead  of  meekly 
yielding  to  all  her  whims  and  tantrums,  he  intended  to 
thwart  her  on  every  possible  occasion ;  if  she  railed  at 
him,  then  he  would  tell  her  plainly  that  she  sang  as  sweetly 
as  a  nightingale  ;  if  she  frowned,  he  would  say  she  looked 
as  clear  as  morning  roses  newly  washed  with  dew  ;  if 
she  were  mute  and  would  not  speak  a  word,  then  he  would 
praise  her  volubility,  and  say  she  spoke  with  piercing  elo- 
quence ;  if  she  bade  him  depart,  he  would  thank  her  as 
though  she  bade  him  remain  for  a  week  ;  if  she  refused 
to  wed  him,  he  would  ask  what  day  he  should  have  the 
banns  called,  and  when  be  married. 

The  plan  that  Petruchio  had  had  the  shrewdness  to 
invent  he  had  strength  of  will  to  carry  out.  It  was 
absolutely  useless  for  the  fiery  lidy  to  try  to  overawe 
him  by  anger,  scorn,  ridicule,  or  insolence.  Petruchio 
ignored  all  her  insulting  speeches  with  the  most  perfect 
good-humour,  and  his  own  self-possession  and  satirical 
remarks  reduced  her  to  a  state  of  hopeless  fury.  The 
moment  she  appeared  he  started  by  contradicting  her, 
insisted  that  she  was  called  "  Kate,"  although  she  said 
she  was  called  "  Katharine,"  and  declared  that,  having 
heard  her  mildness  praised  in  every  town,  her  virtues 
spoken  of,  and  her  beauty  extolled,  he  had  come  to  woo 
her  for  his  wife.  It  was  useless  for  Katharine  to  get  into 
a  passion  and  shower  abuse  on  him.  The  ruder  she 
became,  the  more  charming  he  pretended  to  think  her. 

"  I  find  you  extremely  gentle,"  he  said.  "  It  was  told 
me  you  were  rough  and  coy  and  sullen,  but  now  I  find 

i6i  L 


The    Taming    of   the    Shrew 

report  is  a  liar  ;  for  you  are  pleasant,  playful,  extremely 
courteous  ;  a  little  slow  in  speech,  but  sweet  as  spring 
flowers  ;  you  cannot  frown,  you  cannot  look  askance, 
not  bite  your  lip  as  angry  wenches  will  ;  nor  does  it 
please  you  to  be  cross  in  talk,  but  you  entertain  your 
suitors  with  gentle  conversation,  soft  and  affable." 

This  method  of  treatment  was  entirely  novel  to 
Katharine,  and  she  scarcely  knew  how  to  contain  herself 
at  such  audacity  ;  but  the  torrent  of  angry  words  she 
poured  out  had  no  effect  whatever  on  this  determined 
suitor.  He  treated  her  furious  speeches  as  idle  chat,  and 
told  her  calmly  that  her  father  had  given  his  consent,  the 
dowry  was  agreed  on,  and  that,  willing  or  unwilling,  he 
intended  to  marry  her.  The  beauty  of  this  fiery  maiden 
took  his  fancy,  and  the  thought  of  taming  her  wild  nature 
to  his  own  will  filled  him  with  more  pleasure  than  he 
would  have  felt  at  winning  a  gentle  and  submissive 
creature  for  his  wife.  When  Baptista  a  few  minutes  later 
entered  to  ask  how  the  courtship  was  speeding,  Petruchio 
announced  that  he  and  Katharine  were  so  well  agreed  that 
they  were  going  to  be  married  on  the  following  Sunday. 

"  I'll  see  thee  hanged  on  Sunday  first,"  was  Katharine's 
wrathful  rejoinder  ;  but,  all  the  same,  when  Sunday 
arrived  the  bride  was  ready,  dressed,  and  waiting  for 
her  eccentric  bridegroom. 

The  Marriage,  and  After 

The  bride  was  ready,  the  guests  were  assembled,  but 
the  bridegroom  still  tarried.  Petruchio  intended  to  teach 
Katharine   a  severe  lesson.     She  had  never  shown   the 

162 


The    Marriage,    and    After 

slightest  consideration  for  anyone  else  ;  her  proud,  over- 
bearing nature  had  always  carried  everything  before  it, 
and  her  violent  temper  had  quelled  any  attempt  at  argu- 
ment. But  in  Petruchio  she  had  met  her  match.  It  was 
his  aim  to  humble  her  pride  thoroughly,  and  to  show  her 
how  unpleasant  it  is  for  others  to  have  to  live  with  a 
person  who  is  perpetually  flying  into  a  passion. 

The  first  humiliation  to  Katharine  was  the  lateness 
of  the  bridegroom's  arrival,  but  still  more  mortifying  to 
her  pride,  when  he  did  at  last  appear,  was  the  extra- 
ordinary array  in  which  he  had  chosen  to  attire  himself. 
His  hat  was  new,  but  his  jerkin  was  old,  and  his  breeches 
had  been  turned  three  times  ;  his  boots  were  not  a  pair, 
one  was  buckled,  the  other  laced  ;  and  he  had  taken  out  of 
the  town  armoury  a  rusty  old  sword  with  a  broken  hilt. 
His  horse  was  a  poor  wretched  creature,  scarcely  able  to 
hobble,  and  the  rotten  harness  was  pieced  together  with 
pack-thread.  His  servant,  Grumio,  was  equipped  in  the 
same  fashion,  all  odds  and  ends,  a  linen  stocking  on  one 
leg  and  a  woollen  one  on  the  other,  gartered  with  red  and 
blue  list ;  an  old  hat  with  a  tattered  rag  of  a  feather — 
in  fact,  he  was  a  perfect  guy  in  dress,  not  like  a  Christian 
foot-boy  or  a  gentleman's  lackey. 

Katharine  had  already  started  for  the  church,  when 
Petruchio  came  rushing  in,  demanding  his  bride.  He 
declined  to  give  any  explanation  of  his  delay,  and  when 
Baptista  and  the  other  gentlemen  begged  him  to  put  on 
more  becoming  wedding  garments,  he  flatly  refused. 
Kate  was  to  be  married  to  him,  and  not  to  his  clothes,  he 
declared,  and  off  he  hurried  to  the  church. 

There  he  behaved  in  such  a  strange,  mad  fashion  that 

163  L  2 


The    Taming    of   the    Shrew 

the  guests  were  scandalised,  and  the  bride  was  perfectly 
terrified.  He  cuffed  the  clergyman  who  was  marrying 
them,  called  for  a  glass  of  wine,  drank  it  noisily,  and  then 
threw  the  dregs  in  the  old  sexton's  face,  giving  as  his  only 
reason  that  his  beard  seemed  to  him  thin  and  hungry. 
When  they  got  back  to  the  house  after  the  wedding,  things 
went  no  better.  Baptista  had  prepared  a  great  feast  in 
honour  of  the  occasion,  but  Petruchio  refused  to  stay 
and  share  it,  and  announced  that  he  must  depart  at 
once.  Entreaties  were  of  no  avail,  and  even  Katharine 
was  refused  when  she  joined  her  voice  to  the  others. 

"  Nay,  then,  do  what  you  like,"  she  cried  indignantly; 
"  /  will  not  go  to-day — no,  nor  to-morrow,  not  till  I 
please  myself.  The  door  is  open,  sir  ;  there  lies  your 
way ;  you  had  better  be  moving  before  your  boots  grow 
old.  As  for  me,  I  shall  not  go  till  I  please  myself.  A 
nice  surly  husband  you  are  likely  to  prove,  if  this  is  the 
way  you  begin." 

"  O  Kate,  content  thee  ;  prithee,  do  not  be  angry." 

"  I  will  be  angry.  Father,  be  quiet  ;  he  shall  stay  m.y 
leisure.  Gentlemen,  forward  to  the  bridal  dinner.  I  see  a 
woman  may  be  made  a  fool  if  she  has  not  spirit  to  resist." 

"  They  shall  go  forward,  Kate,  at  thy  command,"  said 
Petruchio.  "  Obey  the  bride,  you  that  attend  on  her  ; 
go  to  the  feast,  revel,  be  mad  and  merry — or  go  hang 
yourselves  !  But  as  for  my  bonny  Kate,  she  must  go  with 
me.  Nay,  look  not  big,  nor  stamp,  nor  stare,  nor  fret  ;  I 
will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own.  She  is  my  goods,  my 
chattels,  my  everythmg  ;  and  here  she  stands,  touch  her 
whoever  dare  !  Fear  not,  sweet  wife,  they  shall  not  touch 
thee,  Kate !"     And,  making  belief  that  they  were  beset 

164 


The    Marriage,    and    After 

with  thieves,  Petruchio  shouted  to  his  man-servant  Grumio 
to  come  and  help  rescue  his  mistress,  and  so  dragged 
Katharine  reluctantly  away. 
The   wedding   journey   was    unpleasant.     Katharine's 


Fear  not,  they  shall  not  touch  thee,  Kate  !" 


horse  fell  with  her  in  one  of  the  muddiest  places,  and 
Petruchio  left  her  to  struggle  free  by  herself,  while  he 
belaboured  Grumio  heartily  because  her  horse  had  stum- 
bled.    Katharine  had  to  wade  through  the  mire  to  pray 

165 


The    Taming    of    the    Shrew 

for  mercy  for  the  man  before  her  husband  would  leave 
off  beating  him.  Arrived  at  his  country  house,  Petruchio 
had  all  the  other  servants  assembled,  and  then  stormed 
at  them  roundly  because  nothing  was  right.  Katharine 
had  again  to  intercede,  and  she  tried  to  point  out  they 
were  not  to  blame  ;  but  the  angry  master  would  listen 
to  no  excuses.  Supper  was  brought,  but  Petruchio  pre- 
tended it  was  badly  cooked,  and  threw  the  meat  about 
all  over  the  place,  refusing  to  let  his  wife  taste  a  morsel. 
She  was  now  really  hungry,  and  would  gladly  have  eaten 
the  food  he  threw  away ;  but  Petruchio  intended  that  she 
should  be  much  more  hungry  and  submissive  before  he 
allowed  her  anything  to  eat.  She  was  also  very  tired, 
but  he  took  care  she  should  get  no  sleep  that  night  ;  he 
tossed  about  the  furniture  in  the  room,  finding  fault  with 
everything ;  and  all  this  was  done  with  the  pretence  that 
it  was  out  of  loving  care  for  her  own  comfort. 

By  the  following  day  Katharine  felt  almost  famished. 
She  implored  Grumio  to  go  and  fetch  her  somethmg  to 
eat  ;  she  did  not  mind  what  it  was  so  long  as  it  was  whole- 
some food.  The  m.an  tantalized  her  for  some  time  by 
suggesting  one  dish  after  another,  any  one  of  which  she 
would  gladly  have  accepted,  and  finally  ended  by  saying 
impertinently  he  could  fetch  her  some  mustard  without 
any  beef. 

At  that  moment  Petruchio  entered,  bringing  some  meat 
which  he  said  he  had  himself  prepared  for  her. 

"  I  am  sure,  sweet  Kate,  this  kindness  merits  thanks. 
What,  not  a  word  ?  Nay,  then,  you  do  not  like  it,  and 
all  my  pams  are  of  no  use.     Here,  take  away  this  dish." 

"  I  pray  you  let  it  stand,"  said  Katharine. 

i66 


The    Marriage,    and    After 

*'  The  poorest  service  is  repaid  with  thanks,  and  so  shah 
mine  be  before  you  touch  the  meat,"  said  Petruchio. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  Katharine  compelled  her  proud 
lips  to  murmur,  for,  indeed,  she  was  nearly  starving, 
and  could  not  endure  to  see  the  food  carried  away  un- 
touched. 

"  Now,  my  honey  love,"  continued  Petruchio,  who  was 
always  most  affectionate  in  his  speech,  and  pretended 
that  everything  he  did  was  out  of  devotion  to  his  wife, 
"  we  will  return  to  your  father's  house,  decked  out  as 
bravely  as  the  best,  in  gay  apparel  ;"  and,  scarcely  allow- 
ing her  a  moment  in  which  to  snatch  a  morsel  of  food,  he 
ordered  in  the  tailor  and  haberdasher,  who  had  been 
preparing  some  fine  new  clothes. 

But,  as  usual,  nothing  pleased  him. 

"  Here  is  the  cap  your  worship  bespoke,"  said  the  haber- 
dasher. 

"  Why,  this  was  moulded  on  a  porringer,  a  velvet  dish  !" 
exclaimed  Petruchio,  with  an  air  of  disgust.  "  It's  a 
cockle  or  a  walnut-shell — a  toy,  a  baby's  cap  !  Away 
with  it  !     Come,  let  me  have  a  bigger." 

"  I'll  have  no  bigger,"  declared  Katharine.  "  This 
suits  the  present  style,  and  gentlewomen  wear  such  caps 
as  these." 

"  When  you  are  gentle,  you  shall  have  one  too,  and  not 
till  then,"  said  Petruchio,  in  rather  a  meaning  voice. 

Katharine's  old  spirit  blazed  up  again  at  this  rebuke, 
but  the  only  notice  Petruchio  took  of  her  angry  words 
was  to  pretend  to  think  she  was  agreeing  with  him  in  his 
abuse  of  the  cap.  Then  he  ordered  the  tailor  to  produce 
the  gown. 

167 


The    Taming    of  the    Shrew 

"0  heavens  !  what  silly  style  of  stuff  is  here  ?"  he  cried 
in  horror.  "  What's  this  ?  A  sleeve  ?  It's  like  a  demi- 
cannon  !  What,  up  and  down,  carved  like  an  apple-tart  ? 
Here's  snip  and  nip,  and  cut,  and  slish  and  slash,  like 
a  censer  in  a  barber's  shop.  Why,  what  in  the  name  of 
evil,  tailor,  do  you  call  this  ?" 

"  You  bade  me  make  it  well  and  properly,  according 
to  the  fashion  and  the  time,"  said  the  tailor. 

"  Marry,  so  I  did,  but,  if  you  remember,  I  did  not  bid 
you  mar  it  to  the  time.  Come,  be  off ;  I'll  none  of  it. 
Hence,  make  the  best  of  it  you  can." 

"  I  never  saw  a  better-fashioned  gown,"  said  Katharine, 
"  more  quaint,  more  pleasing,  nor  more  praiseworthy. 
I  suppose  you  mean  to  make  a  puppet  of  me." 

"  Why,  true,  he  means  to  make  a  puppet  of  you,"  said 
Petruchio,  wilfully  mistaking  to  whom  she  spoke. 

"  She  says  your  worship  means  to  make  a  puppet  of 
her,"  explained  the  tailor. 

But  Petruchio  would  listen  to  no  reason  or  argument, 
and  sent  the  tailor  away  in  the  most  peremptory  manner, 
though  privately  the  man  was  told  he  would  be  paid  for 
the  gown,  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  offended  at  Petruchio's 
hasty  words. 

"  Well,  come,  my  Kate,  we  will  go  to  your  father's 
house  even  in  this  honest,  mean  raiment,"  said  Petruchio. 
"  After  all,  fine  clothes  are  of  no  importance.  Is  the  jay 
more  precious  than  the  lark  because  his  feathers  are  more 
beautiful  ?  Oh  no,  good  Kate;  neither  are  you  any  the 
worse  for  this  mean  array.  If  you  feel  ashamed  about 
it,  lay  the  blame  on  me;  and  so,  be  cheerful.  Come, 
we  will  go  at  once  to  feast  and  amuse  ourselves  at  your 

i68 


The    Marriage,    and    After 

father's  house.  Let  me  see  :  1  think  it  is  now  about  seven 
o'clock  ;  we  shall  easily  get  there  by  dinner-time." 

Katharine  looked  at  her  husband  in  astonishment ;  and 
well  she  might,  for  it  was  already  the  middle  of  the  day. 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,  it  is  almost  two  o'clock  ;  it  will  be 
supper-time  before  we  get  there." 

"  It  shall  be  seven  o'clock  before  I  get  to  horse,"  de- 
clared Petruchio.  "  Look,  whatever  I  speak  or  do,  or  think 
to  do,  you  are  always  crossing  me  !  I  will  not  go  to-day, 
and  before  I  do,  it  shall  be  whatever  time  I  say  it  is." 

Petruchio's  determined  will  at  last  gained  the  day,  and 
Katharine  learned  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  battle 
with  him.  When  in  their  journey  to  her  father's  house 
he  chose  to  say  it  was  the  moon  shining  in  the  sky,  she 
had  to  agree  that  it  was  the  moon,  although  everyone 
could  see  it  was  the  sun  ;  and  then,  when  he  declared  im- 
mediately that  it  was  the  blessed  sun,  she  had  also  to 
change  her  statement  and  say  it  was  the  sun. 

"  What  you  will  have  it  named,  even  that  it  is,"  she 
said,  quite  tired  out  by  his  strange  freaks,  "  and  so  it  shall 
be  so  for  Katharine." 

"  Petruchio,  go  your  way,  the  field  is  won,"  said  his 
friend  Hortensio,  who  was  with  them. 

When  matters  had  come  to  this  point  with  the  haughty 
Katharine,  there  was  not  much  fear  that  she  would 
resume  her  old  imperious  ways. 

It  may  be  remembered  that,  when  Katharine's  father 
ordered  his  younger  daughter  Bianca  to  keep  in  seclusion 
till  a  husband  had  been  found  for  Katharine,   he  had 

171 


The    Taming    of   the    Shrew 

provided  schoolmasters  to  divert  her  tedious  hours. 
Two  of  her  suitors  had  contrived  to  get  into  the  house 
under  the  guise  of  masters  of  music  and  poetry,  and  one 
of  them — Lucentio — she  presently  married,  while  the 
other — Hortensio — found  consolation  in  a  wealthy  widow. 
To  the  wedding  feast  came  Petruchio  and  Katharine, 
Hortensio  and  his  wife,  with  many  other  guests,  and  dur- 
ing the  meal  a  rather  hot  discussion  sprang  up  as  to  the 
amiability  of  some  of  the  ladies  present.  Petruchio 
remarked  that  his  friend  Hortensio  was  afraid  of  his  wife, 
whereupon  that  lady  retorted  that  he  who  is  giddy  thinks 
the  world  goes  round,  meaning  by  this  that  Petruchio  was 
afraid  of  his  own  wife.  Katharine  was  indignant  at  this, 
and  even  the  gentle  Bianca  plunged  rather  sharply  into 
the  argument.  After  the  ladies  had  retired  from  table 
the  gentlemen  still  continued  the  discussion.  Petruchio 
said  the  jest  had  glanced  away  from  him,  and  had  prob- 
ably hurt  Lucentio  and  Hortensio  worse. 

"  Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petruchio,"  said  Baptista, 
"  I  think  you  have  the  veriest  shrew  of  all." 

"  Well,  I  say  no,"  said  Petruchio.  "  So  to  make  sure, 
let  each  one  of  us  send  to  his  wife,  and  he  whose  wife  is 
most  obedient  to  come  at  once  when  he  sends  for  her,  shall 
win  the  wager  which  we  will  propose." 

"  Content,"  said  Hortensio.     "  What  is  the  wager  ?" 

"  Twenty  crowns,"  suggested  Lucentio. 

"  Twenty  crowns  !"  cried  Petruchio.  "  Pd  venture  as 
much  on  my  hawk  or  my  hound,  but  twenty  times  as 
much  on  my  wife." 

"  A  hundred,  then,"  said  Lucentio. 

"  A  match  !     It's  done,"  said  Petruchio. 

172 


The    Marriage,    and    After 

"  Who  shall  begin  ?"  asked  Hortensio. 

"  I  will,"  said  Lucentio. 

So  a  message  was  first  sent  to  Bianca.  But  she  sent 
back  word  that  she  was  busy  and  could  not  corns. 

"  How  ?  She  is  bus}^  and  she  cannot  come  !  Is  that 
an  answer  ?"  said  Petruchio  mockingly. 

"  Ay,  and  a  kind  one  too,"  said  one  of  the  guests. 
"  Pray  heaven,  sir,  your  wife  do  not  send  you  a 
worse." 

"  I  hope,  better,"  replied  Petruchio. 

"  Signor  Biondello,  go  and  entreat  my  wife  to  come  to 
me  forthwith,"  said  Hortensio. 

"  O,  ho  !  entreat  her  !"  laughed  Petruchio.  "  Nay,  then, 
she  must  needs  come." 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,  do  what  you  can,  yours  will  not  be 
entreated,"  retorted  Hortensio.  Then,  as  the  messenger 
returned,  "  No\v,  where's  my  wife  ?" 

"  She  says  you  have  some  goodly  jest  in  hand  ;  she 
will  not  come.     She  bids  you  go  to  her." 

"  Worse  and  worse,  '  she  will  not  come  !'  "  said  Petruchio. 
"  Intolerable,  not  to  be  endured  !  Grumio,  go  to  your 
mistress :  say  I  command  her  to  come  to  me." 

"  I  know  her  answer,"  said  Hortensio. 

"  What  ?" 

"  She  will  not  come." 

But  the  next  moment  in  walked  Katharine. 

"  What  is  your  will,  sir,  that  you  send  for  me  ?" 

"  Where  is  your  sister,  and  Hortensio's  wife  ?"  asked 
Petruchio. 

"  They  are  sitting  talking  by  the  parlour  fire." 

"  Go,  fetch  them  hither  ;  if  they  refuse  to  come,  beat 

173 


The    laming    of   the    Shrew 

them  forth  to  their  husbands.  Away,  I  say,  and  bring 
them  straight  here." 

"  Here  is  a  wonder,  if  you  talk  of  a  wonder,"  said 
Lucentio,  as  Katharine  obediently  departed. 

"  And  so  it  is.  I  wonder  what  it  bodes,"  said  Hor- 
tensio. 

"  Marry,  peace  it  bodes,  and  love,  and  quiet  life — in 
short,  everything  that  is  sweet  and  happy,"  said  Petruchio. 

"  Now,  fair  befall  you,  good  Petruchio  !"  said  Baptista. 
"  You  have  won  the  wager,  and  I  will  add  to  it  twenty 
thousand  crowns — another  dowry  to  another  daughter, 
for  Katharine  is  changed  as  if  she  had  never  been." 

"  Nay,'"  said  Petruchio,  ''  I  will  win  my  wager  better 
yet,  and  show  more  signs  of  her  obedience.  See  where 
she  comes  and  brings  your  froward  wives  as  prisoners 
to  her  womanly  persuasion."  Then,  as  Katharine 
entered  with  Bianca  and  Hortensio's  wife,  he  continued  : 
"  Katharine,  that  cap  of  yours  does  not  become  you  ;  off 
with  that  bauble,  throw  it  underfoot." 

Greatly  to  the  disgust  of  the  other  two  wives,  Katharine 
instantly  obeyed. 

"  Lord,  let  me  never  have  a  cause  to  sigh  till  I  be  brought 
to  such  a  silly  pass,"  said  Hortensio's  wife,  and  even  the 
gentle  Bianca  exclaimed  with  equal  disdain  : 

"  Fie  !  what  sort  of  foolish  duty  do  you  call  this  ?" 

"  I  wish  your  duty  were  as  foolish,  too,"  said  her  hus- 
band. "  The  wisdom  of  your  duty,  fair  Bianca,  has  cost 
me  a  hundred  crowns  since  supper-time." 

"  The  more  fool  you,  for  wagering  on  my  duty !"  was 
Eianca's  unkind  reply. 

Then    Petruchio  bade    Katharine  tell  the  other  head- 

^74 


The    Marriage,    and    After 

strong  women  what  duty  they  owed  their  husbands.  And 
this  she  straightway  did,  in  a  speech  of  such  wonderful 
grace  and  submission  that  all  her  hearers  were  amazed. 
As  for  her  husband,  he  was  delighted  with  the  result  of 
his  somewhat  rough  schooling.  "  Come,  Kate  !"  he  said. 
"  Good-night  !"  And  he  retired  triumphantly  with  his 
now  loving  and  devoted  wife. 


"  Come,  Kate  !  .  .  .     Good-night 


i7«i 


Orsino's  Envoy 

EBASTIAN  and  Viola  were  brother  and 
sister,  twins,  and  they  resembled  each 
other  so  closely  that  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  know  them  apart  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  difference  in  dress. 
Travelling  by  sea  on  one  occasion,  they 
met  with  a  dangerous  adventure,  for  near  the  coast  of 
Illyria  their  ship  was  wrecked,  and  though  both  managed 
to  get  safely  to  land,  each  feared  the  other  had  perished. 
The  captain  of  the  ship,  who  was  saved  in  the  same  boat 
with  Viola,  kindly  befriended  her.  It  happened  he  knew 
that  country  well,  for  he  was  born  and  bred  there,  and 
had  only  left  it  a  month  before.     He  told  Viola  that  it 

176 


Orsino's    Envoy 


was  governed  by  a  Duke,  noble  in  nature  as  in  name, 
and  that  this  Duke  was  in  love  with  a  fair  lady  called 
Olivia.  The  father  and  brother  of  the  lady,  however, 
had  both  died  within  the  last  year,  and  the  Countess 
Olivia  out  of  love  for  them  and  grief  for  their  loss  had 
shut  herself  up  in  seclusion  ever  since,  and  refused  to  see 
anyone. 

Viola,  who  had  been  cast  quite  destitute  on  shore,  would 
gladly  have  served  this  lady  for  awhile  till  the  opportunity 
came  to  show  what  was  her  real  estate  in  life ;  but  the 
captain  said  that  would  be  difficult  to  manage,  for  the 
Countess  would  listen  to  no  kind  of  suit,  not  even  the 
Duke  Orsino's.  Then  the  idea  came  to  Viola  to  disguise 
herself  as  a  page,  and  to  seek  service  with  the  Duke, 
of  whom  she  had  heard  her  own  father  speak.  She  could 
sing  and  play  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music,  which  would 
make  her  well  worth  his  service,  for  the  Duke  was  espe- 
cially fond  of  music.  The  captain  promised  to  keep  con- 
cealed who  she  really  was,  aid  her  in  getting  a  disguise, 
and  present  her  to  the  Duke. 

All  went  well.  Viola,  with  her  grace,  beauty,  and  noble 
bearing,  made  such  a  gallant  young  page  that  she  was 
received  into  instant  favour,  and  before  three  days  were 
over,  the  Duke,  won  by  some  irresistible  charm,  had  con- 
fided to  "  Cesario  "  (as  he  called  her)  all  the  secret  of  his. 
unhappy  love  for  the  lady  Olivia.  His  suit  so  far  had 
been  rejected,  even  his  messengers  were  denied  admit-- 
tance  ;  but  it  occurred  to  Orsino  that  if  he  sent  this  pretty 
lad  to  the  Countess  perhaps  he  might  be  more  successful 
in  pleading  his  cause  than  some  older  envoy  of  graver 
aspect.     He  bade  Cesario  insist  on  admittance,  and  refuse 


Twelfth    Night 


to  be  sent  away  without  seeing  Olivia.  When  he  gained 
speech  with  the  Countess,  he  was  to  tell  her  of  Orsino's 
devotion,  and  relate  his  woes. 

"  Prosper  well  in  this,"  he  ended,  "  and  you  shall  live 
as  freely  as  your  lord,  and  call  his  fortunes  yours." 

Alas,  poor  Viola  !  The  Duke  little  thought  what  a 
task  he  was  setting  his  young  page.  The  sweetness  and 
charm  of  his  own  nature  had  already  won  Viola's  heart, 
and  how  gladly  she  would  have  accepted  the  love  which 
Olivia  rejected  ! 

But  she  must  be  faithful  to  her  trust. 

"  I'll  do  my  best  to  woo  your  lady,"  she  said,  and  so 
departed  on  her  mission. 

While  the  lady  Olivia  lived  in  grief  and  retirement, 
there  were  others  of  her  household  very  far  from  sharing 
in  her  desire  for  quiet  and  gravity.  Her  steward,  Mal- 
volio,  was  indeed  a  staid  and  respectable  personage,  stiff 
in  bearing,  hating  all  forms  of  wit  and  levity,  very  fault- 
finding with  others,  and  extremely  well  satisfied  with 
himself.  Olivia  had  a  real  esteem  for  Malvolio,  for  she 
knew  him  to  be  worthy  and  conscientious,  although,  as 
she  told  him,  he  was  "  sick  of  self-love."  But  there 
were  others  who  conducted  themselves  very  differently 
from  Malvolio,  and  between  these  noisy  dependents  and 
the  austere  steward  there  was  a  constant  smouldering 
resentment,  always  ready  to  break  into  open  warfare. 

The  chief  source  of  unruliness  was  a  certain  riotous 
knight,  called  Sir  Toby  Belch,  an  uncle  of  Olivia's,  who 
since  her  brother's  death  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  the 
house.  He  loved  feasting  and  revelry,  and  his  wild 
behaviour  was  likely  soon  to  bring  discredit  on  the  hous^^ 

178 


Orsino's    Envoy 


hold  if  some  check  were  not  put  to  it.  His  boon  com- 
panion was  an  idle  knight,  called  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek, 
who  under  a  smattering  of  foreign  languages  concealed 
an  unlimited  fund  of  native  stupidity.  Sir  Toby  was 
quite  aware  of  Sir  Andrew's  silliness,  and  loved  to  laugh 
at  him  and  parade  his  folly  ;  but  none  the  less  he  thought 
this  foolish  gentleman  would  do  very  well  as  a  husband 
for  Olivia,  and  he  encouraged  him  to  come  to  the  house 
on  every  occasion.  A  third  member  of  the  band  was 
Feste,  the  clown,  or  jester.  Feste  was  a  privileged  person, 
and,  like  all  fools  or  Court  jesters  in  those  days,  was 
allowed  to  speak  his  mind  much  more  freely  than  ordinary 
mortals  ;  even  the  stately  Countess  herself  did  not  escape 
his  sharp  speeches.  In  days  gone  by,  Olivia's  father 
had  taken  much  delight  in  him,  and  now  Olivia  listened 
indulgently  to  his  chatter,  and  rebuked  Malvolio  for  the 
sour  ill-temper  with  which  he  tried  to  snub  the  fool's 
sallies.  In  addition  to  his  fool's  wit,  Feste  possessed  a 
gift  of  real  power,  a  wonderfully  sweet  voice  for  singing, 
and  wherever  he  went  could  be  heard  snatches  of 
song,  gay  and  jocund,  or  plaintive  and  of  touching 
pathos. 

Olivia's  waiting-maid,  Maria,  regarded  Malvolio  with 
no  more  favour  than  did  the  rest  of  this  noisy  company. 
She  was  a  quick-witted,  lively  young  person,  delighting 
in  fun,  and  Malvolio' s  solemn  primness  and  rigid  severity 
seemed  to  her  nothing  but  hypocrisy. 

"  An  affected  ass,"  she  described  him,  with  small 
reverence,  '*  with  the  best  possible  opinion  of  himself  ; 
so  crammed,  as  he  thinks,  with  excellences  that  he  firmly 
believes  that  all  who  look  on  him  love  him  " 

179  M  2 


Twelfth    Night 


And  it  was  from  this  intense  self-conceit  of  Malvoiio's 
that  this  mischievous  httle  band  of  conspirators — Sir 
Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek,  Feste  the  clown,  and 
Maria — found  means  to  revenge  themselves  by  playing 
a  humiliating  trick  on  the  pompous  steward. 

When  Viola,  in  the  character  of  Cesario,  reached  Olivia's 
house,  she  was  at  first  refused  admittance,  but  as  she 
announced  her  intention  of  standing  at  the  door  until 
she  had  given  her  message,  and  absolutely  declined  to 
take  any  denial,  Olivia  at  last  consented  to  see  her. 

"  Give  me  my  veil,"  she  said  to  Maria.  "  Come,  throw 
it  over  my  face.  We  will  once  more  hear  Orsino's 
embassy  ;"  and  Viola,  attended  by  four  or  five  servants 
of  the  Duke,  was  ushered  into  her  presence. 

"  The  honourable  lady  of  the  house,  which  is  she  ?" 
she  demanded. 

"  Speak  to  me  ;  I  shall  answer  for  her.  Your  will?" 
said  Olivia  curtly. 

"  Most  radiant,  exquisite,  and  unmatchable  beauty," 
began  Viola,  with  high-flown  gallantry,  and  enjoying  the 
humour  of  her  own  words,  for,  as  Olivia  was  closely  veiled, 
she  could  not  see  whom  she  was  addressing.  Not  in  the 
least  abashed,  however,  by  that  lady's  stately  dignity, 
she  begged  permission  to  deliver  her  message,  and  to 
speak  it  to  Olivia  alone.  The  quaint  impertinence  of 
the  pretty  lad,  his  ready  wit,  and  his  noble  bearing,  took 
Olivia's  fancy,  and,  instead  of  dismissing  him  abruptly, 
as  had  been  her  first  intention,  she  sent  away  her  atten- 
dants and  bade  him  speak  on. 

But  when  Viola  uttered  Orsino's  name,  Olivia,  as  usual, 
drew  back.     Even  from  this  messenger  she  had  jio  wish 

i8q 


Orsino's    Envoy 


to  hear  of  Orsino's  devotion,  and  she  checked  him  rather 
abruptly. 

"  Have  you  no  more  to  say  ?"  she  added. 

"  Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face,"  pleaded  Viola, 
for  she  longed  to  behold  the  lady  who  could  so  enchant 
Duke  Orsino. 

"  Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to  see 
my  face  ?"  asked  Olivia,  not  ill-pleased.  "  You  are  now 
out  of  your  message  ;  but  we  will  draw  the  curtain,  and 
show  you  the  picture.  Look  you,  sir,  such  a  one  I  am 
now.     Is  it  not  well  done  ?" 

She  threw  back  her  veil,  and  her  dazzling  beauty  shone 
forth  in  all  its  radiance. 

Viola  gazed  at  her  in  admiration. 

"  Excellently  done,  if  God  did  all,"  she  murmured,  for 
she  could  scarcely  believe  such  lovehness  of  tint  could 
be  natural. 

"  'Tis  in  grain,  sir  ;  it  will  endure  wind  and  weather," 
replied  Olivia. 

"It  is  beauty  truly  blent,  whose  red  and  white  were 
laid  on  by  Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand,"  said 
Viola.  "  Lady,  you  are  the  cruellest  person  alive  if  you 
let  these  graces  go  down  to  the  grave  and  leave  the  world 
no  copy." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  hard-hearted,"  said  Ohvia, 
with  gentle  sarcasm  ;  "  I  will  give  out  divers  schedules  of 
my  beauty  ;  it  shall  be  all  entered  in  an  inventory,  and 
duly  labelled ;  as,  item,  two  lips,  indifferent  red  ;  item, 
two  gray  eyes,  with  lids  to  them  ;  item,  one  neck,  one 
chin,  and  so  forth.     Were  you  sent  hither  to  praise  me  ?" 

"  I  see  you  what  you  are — you  ire  too  proud,"  said 

183' 


Twelfth    Night 


Viola.  "  My  lord  and  master  loves  you.  Oh,  such  love 
deserves  its  recompense,  though  you  were  crowned  peer- 
less in  beauty." 

To  this  Olivia  replied  that  Orsino  knew  her  mind  ;  she 
could  not  love  him.  She  knew  him  to  be  noble,  of  great 
estate  and  stainless  youth,  generous  in  disposition, 
learned,  valiant,  graceful,  and  handsome  in  person.  Yet 
she  could  not  love  him.  He  might  have  taken  his  answer 
long  ago. 

"  If  I  loved  you  as  my  master  does,  with  such  fire  and 
suffering,  I  would  find  no  sense  in  your  denial,"  said  Viola. 
"  I  would  not  understand  it." 

"  Why,  what  would  you  do  ?" 

"  Make  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate,  write  loyal 
songs  of  love,  and  sing  them  loud,  even  in  the  dead  of 
night,"  cried  Viola  ;  "  call  out  your  name  to  the  echoing 
hills,  and  make  the  babbling  air  cry  out  '  Olivia  !'  Oh,  you 
should  have  no  rest,  but  you  should  pity  me  !" 

"  You  might  do  much,"  said  Olivia,  with  assumed 
sarcasm,  but  really  touched  by  the  young  page's  en- 
thusiasm.    "  What  is  your  parentage  ?" 

"  Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  estate  is  good." 

"  Get  you  to  your  lord  ;  I  cannot  love  him.  Let  him 
send  no  more — unless,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again 
to  tell  me  how  he  takes  it.  Fare  you  well  ;  I  thank  you 
for  your  pains.     Spend  this  for  me." 

"  I  am  no  fee'd  post,  lady  ;  keep  your  purse,"  said 
Viola.  "  My  master,  not  myself,  lacks  recompense. 
When  your  turn  comes  to  love,  may  your  own  lover's 
heart  be  made  of  flint,  and  may  your  affection,  like  my 
master's,  be  held  in  contempt  !     Farewell,  fair  cruelty  !" 

184 


Orsino's    Envoy 


Viola  had  done  her  best  for  her  master,  but  the  only 
success  she  had  was  to  win  his  lady's  heart  for  herself. 
The  stately  lady  Olivia,  so  cold  and  proud  to  the  noble 
Duke  Orsino,  was  now  forced  to  own  to  herself  that  she 
found  a  strange  fascination  in  this  young  page.  He  had 
refused  the  gift  of  money  which,  in  accordance  with  the 
custom  of  those  times,  Olivia  had  offered,  but  she  could 
not  let  him  pass  out  of  her  sight,  perhaps  for  ever,  without 
a  remembrance. 

"  What  ho  !  MalvoHo  !"  she  called. 

"  Here,  madam,  at  your  service." 

"  Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenger,  the  Duke 
Orsino's  man,"  she  said.  "  He  left  this  ring  behind  him. 
Tell  him  I'll  none  of  it.  Desire  him  not  to  flatter  his 
lord,  nor  feed  him  up  with  hope.  I  will  never  marry  him. 
If  the  youth  will  come  this  way  to-morrow,  I  will  give 
him  reasons  for  it.     Hasten,  Malvolio." 

"  Madam,  I  will,"  said  the  steward  ;  and  he  stiffly 
departed,  and  ungraciously  fulfilled  his  errand. 

Viola  had  given  no  ring  to  Olivia,  and  she  could  not 
fail  to  see  that  the  Countess  intended  this  gift  as  a  mark 
of  favour,  and  had  taken  a  great  liking  for  herself.  This 
was  anything  but  pleasing  to  her,  for  she  knew  it  could 
lead  to  nothing  but  fresh  trouble. 

"  Poor  lady  !  she  had  better  love  a  dream,"  she  thought. 
"  How  will  matters  turn  out  ?  My  master  loves  her 
dearly;  I,  poor  fool!  am  just  as  fond  of  him;  and  she, 
mistaken,  seems  to  doat  on  me  !  What  will  become  of 
this  ?  O  time,  you  must  untangle  it,  not  I  !  It  is  too 
hard  a  knot  for  me  to  unravel." 


185 


Twelfth    Night 

A  Dream  of  Greatness 

The  disagreement  alwa^'s  existing  between  the  steward 
Malvoho  and  the  riotous  members  of  Ohvia's  household 
broke  at  last  into  warfare.  On  the  night  of  the  day  when 
Duke  Orsino's  messenger  came  to  Olivia,  Sir  Toby  and 
Sir  Andrew  chose  to  sit  up  late,  drinking  and  singing. 
Feste,  the  clown,  joined  them,  and  after  one  song,  sung 
sweetly  enough  by  himself,  the  whole  trio  united  in  yelling 
out  a  noisy  catch.  The  din  they  made  roused  the  house- 
hold, and  Maria  came  hurrying  in  to  beg  them  to  be  quiet. 

"  Why,  what  a  caterwauling  you  keep  here  !"  she  cried. 
"  If  my  lady  have  not  called  up  her  steward  Malvolio  and 
bade  him  turn  you  out  of  doers,  never  trust  me." 

But  all  her  attempts  to  silence  them  were  useless. 
They  laughed,  shouted,  called  for  more  wine,  and  went  on 
singing  at  the  pitch  of  their  voices.  In  vain  she  begged 
for  peace  ;  they  were  quite  beyond  control.  When 
Malvolio  himself  appeared,  they  paid  no  more  heed  to 
him  than  they  had  done  to  Maria,  and  only  answered  his 
rebuking  words  by  each  singing  at  him  in  turn  snatches 
of  different  songs. 

"  My  masters,  are  you  mad,  or  what  are  you  ?"  he 
cried,  with  just  indignation.  '"  Have  you  no  wit,  manners, 
nor  honesty,  but  to  gabble  like  tinkers  at  this  time  of 
night  ?  Do  you  make  an  alehouse  of  my  lad^^'s  house 
that  you  squeak  out  your  vulgar  catches  at  the  top  of  your 
voice  ?  Is  there  no  respect  of  place,  persons,  nor  time 
in  you  ?" 

"  We  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches,"  said  Sir  Toby. 
"  Shut  up  !" 

i86 


A    Dream   of   Greatness 

"  Sir  Toby,  I  must  be  round  with  you.  My  lady  bade 
me  tell  you  that,  though  she  harbours  you  as  her  kinsman, 
she  is  not  allied  to  your  bad  behaviour.  If  you  can 
separate  yourself  from  your  misdoings,  you  are  welcome 


Farewell,  dear  heart,  since  I  must  needs  be  gone  !" 


to  the  house  ;  if  not,  if  it  would  please  you  to  take  leave 
of  her,  she  is  very  willing  to  bid  you  farewell." 

'  '  Farewell,  dear  heart,  since  I  must  needs  be  gone !'  " 
trolled  out  Sir  Toby,  in  mock  melancholy,  and  not  in  the 
least  impressed  by  Malvolio's  stern  rebuke. 

"  Nay,  good  Sir  Toby,"  pleaded  Maria. 

187 


Twelfth    Night 


"  '  His   eyes   do   show   his   days   are    almost   done,'  '* 
chimed  in  the  clown,  carrying  on  the  song. 

All  Malvolio's  angry  speeches  were  met  with  the  same 
musical  mockery,  and  nothing  would  make  the  culprits 
stop.  Almost  speechless  with  fury,  Malvolio  left  the 
revellers,  declaring  that  his  lady  should  know  of  their 
goings-on. 

"  Sweet  Sir  Toby,  be  patient  for 
to-night,"  urged  Maria.  "Since 
the  youth  of  Duke  Orsino's  was 
to-day  with  my  lady,  she  is  much 
disquieted.  For  Monsieur  Malvolio, 
let  me  alone  with  him.  If  I  do  not 
gull  him  into  a  by-word  and  make 
him  a  general  laughing-stock,  never 
trust  my  wit.  I  know  I  can  do 
it." 

"  Good,  good !  Tell  us  some- 
thing about  him,"  said  Sir  Toby. 

"  Marry,  sir,  sometimes  he  is  a 
kind  of  puritan,"  said  Maria. 

"  Oh,  if  I  thought  that,  I'd  beat 
him  like  a  dog  !"  cried  the  silly  Sir 
Andrew. 

"  What,  for  being  a  puritan  ?" 
asked  Sir  Toby,  who  was  always  ready  to  ridicule  Sir 
Andrew's  brainless  remarks,  though  he  made  such  a  com- 
panion of  him.     "  Thy  exquisite  reason,  dear  knight  ?" 

"  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for  it,  but  I  have  reason 
good  enough,"  said  the  foolish  young  man  sulkily. 

Maria  then  went  on  to  say  that  Malvolio's  self-conceit 

i88 


I  have  no  exquisite 
reason." 


A    Dream    of   Greatness 

as  to  his  own  merits  was  so  great  that  he  imagined  every- 
one who  looked  at  him  loved  him,  and  this  would  give 
them  an  opening  for  their  revenge.  She  would  drop  in 
his  way  some  vaguely  expressed  letters  of  love,  in  which 
he  should  find  his  different  pecdiarities  so  well  described 
that  there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  whom  was  meant. 
She  could  write  very  like  the  lady  Olivia  ;  in  fact,  they 
sometimes  could  not  tell  their  own  handwritings  apart. 
Malvolio  would  think  the  letters  he  found  came  from 
Oh  via,  and  that  she  was  in  love  with  him. 

Maria's  trick  was  not  a  very  praiseworthy  one,  but  her 
hearers  were  not  troubled  with  scruples.  They  only 
thought  how  delightfully  comic  it  would  be  to  see  the 
stiff  and  starched  steward  priding  himself  on  the  conquest 
he  had  made,  and  what  deep  humiliation  would  fall  on  him 
when  his  mistake  was  discovered. 

Maria  was  not  long  in  carrying  out  her  scheme,  and 
Malvolio  was  immediately  caught  with  the  bait.  Having 
once  got  into  his  mind  the  absurd  idea  that  the  Countess 
Olivia  was  in  love  with  him,  he  began  weaving  plans  of 
what  he  should  do  when  he  was  advanced  to  the  high 
position  *of  her  husband.  His  ambitious  meditations 
were  overheard  by  the  conspirators,  for  Maria  had  run 
into  the  garden  to  warn  them  of  his  approach. 

"Get  all  three  into  the  box-tree,"  she  cried;  "Malvolio 
is  coming  down  this  walk.  He  has  been  yonder  in  the 
sun  practising  behaviour  to  his  own  shadow  this  half- 
hour.  Observe  him,  for  the  love  of  mockery,  for  I  know 
this  letter  will  make  an  idiot  of  him.  Hide,  in  the  name 
of  jesting  !  .  .  ,     Lie  thou  there,"  she  added,  throwing 

X89 


Twelfth    Night 


down  a  letter,  "  for  here  comes  the  trout  that  must  be 
caught  with  tickhng." 

"  It  is  but  fortune — all  is  fortune,"  murmured  Malvolio, 
as  he  paced  along  with  solemn  stride.  "Maria  once  told 
me  that  she  liked  me,  and  I  have  heard  herself  go  so  far 
as  to  say  that  if  ever  she  fancied  anyone,  it  should  be  one 
of  my  complexion.  Besides,  she  treats  me  with  more 
exalted  respect  than  any  one  else  of  her  followers.  What 
should  I  think  of  it  ?" 

Malvolio's  imagination  now  soared  beyond  all  bounds, 
and  he  marched  up  and  down,  pluming  himself  Uke  a 
turkey-cock. 

"To  be  Count  Malvolio  !"  he  exclaimed  in  ecstasy,  and 
forthwith  began  to  consider  how  he  should  comport  him- 
self in  that  exalted  sphere. 

"  Having  been  three  months  married  to  her,  sitting  in 
my  state,"  he  mused,  gesticulating  to  himself  as  if  all 
he  described  were  really  taking  place,  "  calling  my  officers 
about  me,  in  my  branched  velvet  gown,  and  telling  them 
I  knew  my  place,  as  I  wished  they  should  know  theirs,  I 
would  ask  for  my  kinsman  Toby.  Seven  of  my  people, 
with  an  obedient  start,  make  for  him ;  I  frown  the  while, 
and  perchance  wind  up  my  watch,  or  play  with  my — some 
rich  jewel.     Toby  approaches,  bows  humbly  to  me " 

"  Shall  this  fellow  live  ?"  cried  the  exasperated  real 
Sir  Toby  in  the  box-tree. 

"  I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus,  quenching  my  familiar 
smile  with  an  austere  regard  of  control " 

"  And  does  not  Toby  give  you  a  blow  on  the  lips  then  ?" 
fumed  the  hearer. 

"  Saying,  '  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes  having  cast  me 

190 


A    Dream    of   Greatness 

on  your  niece,  give  me  this  privilege  of  speech.  You  mus': 
amend  your  drinking  habits.  Besides,  you  waste  the 
treasure  of  your  time  with  a  fooKsh  knight '  " 

"  That's  me,  I  warrant  you,"  put  in  Sir  Andrew. 

"  One  Sir  Andrew " 

"  I  knew  it  was  I,  for  many  call  me  fool,"  said  Sir 
Andrew,  quite  pleased  at  his  own  penetration. 

But  Malvolio's  imaginary  rebuke  to  Sir  Toby  came 
abruptly  to  an  end,  for  he  now  caught  sight  of  the  letter 
which  Maria  had  thrown  on  the  ground. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  By  my  life,  this  is  my  lady's 
hand  ;  these  are  her  very  C's,  her  U's,  and  her  T's  ;  and 
thus  she  makes  her  great  P's.  Beyond  all  question  it  is 
her  hand."  Then  Malvolio  read  aloud  the  inscription  : 
"  '  To  the  unknown  beloved,  this,  and  my  good  wishes.' 
Her  very  phrases  !  By  your  leave,  wax.  Soft  !  And 
the  impression  her  own  seal  !  It  is  my  lady.  To  whom 
should  this  be  ?" 

The  letter  was  written  in  the  most  nonsensical  terms, 

but  Malvolio  at  once  began  to  puzzle  a  meaning  into  it. 

"  Jove  knows  1  love  : 
But  who  ? 
Lips  do  not  move  ; 
No  man  must  know." 

"  '  No  man  must  know,'  "  he  echoed.     "  If  this  should 

be  thee,  Malvolio  !" 

"  I  may  command  where  I  adore  ; 
But  silence,  like  a  Lucrece  knife. 
With  bloodless  stroke  my  heart  doth  gore, 
M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life." 

Malvolio  pondered  deeply  over  these  mystic  lines.  "  I 
may  command  where   I   adore  "   was,   of  course,   quite 

191 


Twelfth    Night 


simple.  Olivia  might  command  him,  for  he  was  her 
servant.     But  what  about  the  letters  M,  O,  A,  I  ? 

"  M — Malvolio  ;  M — why,  that  begins  my  name  !" 
( ame  the  sudden  flash  of  discovery. 

The  succeeding  letters  were  not  so  easy  to  explain,  for 
they  did  not  follow  in  their  proper  order.  But  Malvolio 
was  not  discouraged ;  he  had  at  least  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  ever}^  one  of  these  letters  was  in  his  name. 

"  Soft  !     There  follows  prose,"  he  continued. 

"  If  this  fall  into  thy  hands,  reflect,"  ran  the  absurd 
epistle.  "  In  my  stars  I  am  above  thee,  but  be  not 
afraid  of  greatness  ;  some  are  born  great,  some  achieve 
greatness,  and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them. 
Thy  fates  open  their  hands,  and  to  accustom  thyself  to 
what  thou  art  likely  to  be,  throw  off  thy  humble  shell, 
and  appear  afresh.  Be  opposite  with  a  kinsman,  surly 
with  servants  ;  let  thy  tongue  tang  arguments  of  State  ; 
put  thyself  into  the  trick  of  singularity  ;  she  thus  advises 
thee  that  sighs  for  thee.  Remember  who  commended  thy 
yellow  stockings,  and  wished  to  see  thee  ever  cross- 
gartered — I  say,  remem.ber  !  Go  to,  thou  art  made,  if 
thou  desirest  to  be  so  ;  if  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  steward 
still,  the  fellow  of  servants,  and  not  worthy  to  touch 
Fortune's     fingers.     Farewell.     She     that     would     alter 

services  with  thee, 

"  The  Fortunate-Unhappy." 

There  was  also  a  postscript,  which  said  : 

"  Thou  canst  not  choose  but  know  who  I  am.  If  thou 
entertainest  my  love,  let  it  appear  in  thy  smihng.     Thy 

192 


A    Dream    of   Greatness 

smiles  become  thee  well,  therefore  in  my  presence  still 
smile,  dear  my  sweet,  I  prithee  " 

This  ridiculous  letter  quite  turned  poor  Malvolio's 
head.  He  never  doubted  but  that  Olivia  had  really 
written  it  ;  he  resolved  in  rapture  to  do  everything  he 
was  bidden,  and  hurried  away  to  put  on  as  quickly  as 
possible  the  yellow  stockings  and  cross-garters. 

Maria  was  delighted  with  the  success  of  her  trick,  for 
all  the  things  she  had  commended  to  Malvolio  were  what 
Olivia  especially  disliked. 

"  He  will  come  to  my  lady  in  yellow  stockings,  and  it 
is  a  colour  she  abhors,"  she  cried  gleefully ;  "  and  cross- 
gartered,  a  fashion  she  detests.  And  he  will  smile  upon 
her,  which  will  now  be  so  unsuitable  to  her  disposition, 
being  addicted  to  melancholy  as  she  is,  that  it  cannot  but 
turn  him  into  great  contempt." 

And  away  went  Maria  and  the  others  to  see  the  first 
approach  of  the  deluded  Malvoho  in  his  extraordinary 
new  guise  before  his  lady. 


The  Challenge 

When  Viola,  saved  from  the  wreck,  was  grieving  over 
the  supposed  loss  of  her  brother,  she  was  comforted  by 
the  sea-captain,  who  told  her  that  he  had  seen  Sebastian 
bind  himself  to  a  strong  mast,  which  floated  on  the  sea, 
and  that  probably  he  too  had  been  saved.  This  turned 
out  to  be  really  the  case.  Sebastian  was  picked  up  by 
another  ship,  the  captain  of  which,  Antonio  by  name, 
most   kindly   befriended   the   destitute   young   stranger. 

193  N 


Twelfth    Night 


For  three  months  he  kept  vSebastian  with  him,  and  he 
loved  the  boy  so  dearly  that,  when  Sebastian  left  him  to 
go  to  the  Court  of  Orsino,  Antonio  followed  him  to  Illyria, 
fearing  lest  some  harm  should  come  to  him. 

Antonio  dared  not  show  himself  openly  in  Illyria,  for 
several  years  before  he  had  fought  valiantly  on  the  side 
of  the  enemies  of  Orsino,  and  done  much  damage  to  the 
Duke's  fleet.  When  on  their  arrival,  therefore,  Sebastian 
proposed  to  take  a  walk  to  see  anything  of  note  in  the 
city,  Antonio  replied  that  it  would  be  better  for  himself 
to  go  and  secure  a  lodging,  and  order  food  to  be  prepared  ; 
he  knew  of  a  place  that  would  suit  very  well,  the  Elephant 
Inn,  in  the  south  suburbs  of  the  city.  Sebastian  in  the 
meanwhile  could  go  for  a  walk,  and  join  him  in  about  an 
hour's  time. 

Knowing  that  Sebastian  had  no  money,  or  very  little, 
Antonio  further  insisted  on  giving  him  his  purse,  in  case 
he  should  see  any  trifle  he  wished  to  purchase.  Every- 
thing being  thus  arranged,  they  parted,  Antonio  to  go  to 
the  Elephant  Inn,  and  Sebastian  to  take  a  walk  through 
the  town. 

In  the  palace  of  the  Duke  there  was  still  sadness,  for 
the  young  page  Cesario,  in  spite  of  his  kind  reception  by 
the  Countess  Olivia,  had  brought  back  no  more  cheering 
answer  than  former  envoys.  Weary  at  heart,  Orsino  longed 
to  hear  some  soothing  music,  and  he  called  for  a  touching 
little  song  which  he  had  heard  sung  the  night  before — a 
plaintive,  old-world  ditty,  whose  quaint  sadness  and 
simplicity  had  more  power  to  reheve  his  sorrow  than  the 
more  light  and  cheerful  strains  of  modern  music. 

194 


The    Challenge 


His  servants  told  him  that  the  person  who  had  sung 
the  song  was  Feste  the  jester,  who  had  been  in  the  service 
of  the  Countess  Ohvia's  father,  and,  as  he  was  still  about 
the  house,  Orsino  ordered  him  to  be  fetched.  So  Feste 
came,  and  this  was  the  song  he  sang  : 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  death, 

And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid  ; 
Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 

1  am  slain  by  a  fair,  cruel  maid  ; 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it  ! 
My  part  of  death,  no  one  so  true 
Did  share  it. 

"  Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet, 

On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strewn  ; 
Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 

My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be  strown  ; 
A  thousand,  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  O  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave 
To  weep  there  !" 

This  sad  little  song  just  suited  the  melancholy  mood 
of  the  Duke,  and  when  Feste  had  sung  it,  and  gone  away, 
Orsino  went  on  talking  to  Viola — or  his  young  page 
Cesario,  as  he  thought  her — about  his  unhappy  love  for 
Olivia.  He  bade  her  go  once  more  to  the  cruel  lady,  and 
insist  on  her  listening  to  him. 

"  But  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sir  ?"  said  Viola. 

"  I  cannot  be  answered  so,"  said  Orsino. 

"  Sooth,  but  you  must,"  replied  Viola.  "  Say  that 
some  lady,  as  perhaps  there  is,  has  as  great  a  love  for  you 
as  you  have  for  Olivia  ;  you  cannot  love  her  ;  you  tell 
her  so  ;  must  she  not  then  be  answered  ?" 

195  N  i 


Twelfth    Night 


Orsino  replied  that  no  woman  could  ever  love  any  man 
as  he  loved  Olivia ;  that  women's  hearts  were  much 
more  shallow  than  men's,  etc.  Viola,  knowing  her  own 
deep  and  hidden  affection  for  the  Duke  himself,  protested 
that  she  knew  too  well  how  much  women  could  love,  and 
in  veiled  language  she  went  on  to  describe  the  case  of  "  a 
daughter  of  her  father,"  whom  Orsino  naturally  took  to 
mean  a  sister,  but  who  was  in  reality  herself.  However, 
the  end  of  it  was  that  Viola  again  went  to  Olivia. 

She  was  received  just  as  kindly  as  before,  but  Olivia 
said  plainly  that  it  was  quite  useless  for  her  to  plead 
on  behalf  of  Orsino,  although  if  Cesario  would  undertake 
another  suit  she  would  listen  to  it  more  gladly  than  to 
the  music  of  the  spheres.  Viola  could  only  reply  to  this 
as  she  had  done  before,  that  she  had  one  heart,  and  that 
no  woman  except  herself  should  ever  be  mistress  of  it. 
So  she  took  her  leave. 

The  interview  between  the  Countess  and  the  young 
page  had  been  jealously  watched  ;  the  spectator  was  the 
foolish  knight.  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek.  It  had  occurred 
to  Sir  Toby  that  it  would  be  a  very  good  plan  to  wed  his 
niece  Olivia  to  this  silly  gentleman,  and  he  kept  urging 
Sir  Andrew  to  pay  his  court  to  her.  Sir  Andrew  spent 
money  lavishly  in  riotous  living  with  Sir  Toby,  hoping  to 
repay  himself  when  he  married  Olivia.  He  was  therefore 
very  indignant  when  he  saw  her  bestow  more  favours  on 
Orsino's  messenger  than  she  had  ever  done  on  him,  and 
he  angrily  told  Sir  Toby  that  he  intended  to  leave  at  once. 

Sir  Toby  tried  to  soothe  him,  and  he  and  another 
gentleman   of  Olivia's  household  who  happened   to   be 

iq6 


The    Challenge 

present  persuaded  him  that  Ohvia  knew  all  the  time  that 
he  was  looking  on,  and  only  showed  favour  to  the  youth 
to  exasperate  Sir  Andrew  and  to  awaken  his  dormouse 
valour.  They  said  he  ought  immediately  to  have  fired 
up,  and  frightened  the  boy  into  dumbness,  and  that  he 
had  damaged  his  own  cause  by  not  doing  so.  The  only 
thing  now  to  do  was  to  redeem  it  by  some  laudable 
attempt  either  of  valour  or  policy. 

"  If  it  is  to  be  anyway,  it  must  be  with  valour,  for  policy 
I  hate,"  said  Sir  Andrew. 

"  Why,  then,  build  your  fortunes  on  the  basis  of  valour," 
said  Sir  Toby  in  his  loud,  jovial  voice.  "  Challenge'  the 
youth  to  fight  ;  hurt  him  in  eleven  places  ;  my  niece 
shall  take  note  of  it ;  and  be  assured,  nothing  prevails 
more  to  win  a  man  favour  with  women  than  a  report  of 
valour." 

"  There  is  no  way  but  this,  Sir  Andrew,"  added  Fabian. 

"  Will  either  of  you  bear  a  challenge  to  him  from  me  ?" 
asked  Sir  Andrew. 

"  Go,  write  it  in  a  martial  hand,"  said  Sir  Toby.  "  Be 
sharp  and  brief.  Make  it  as  rude  and  insolent  as  you 
possibly  can." 

Sir  Andrew  retired  to  write  his  challenge,  leaving  the 
other  two  men  to  laugh  heartily  over  the  prospect  of  a 
good  joke. 

"  We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him,"  said  Fabian, 
"  but  you  will  not  deliver  it  ?" 

"  Faith,  and  I  will  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Toby,  "  and  by  all 
means  stir  on  the  youth  to  an  answer.  I  think  oxen  and 
cart-ropes  will  not  drag  them  together." 

For  he  knew  Sir  Andrew  had  not  a  grain  of  courage  m 

197 


Twelfth    Night 


his  whole  body ;  and  as  for  Orsino's  page,  he  looked  far 
too  soft  and  gentle  to  be  in  the  least  brave  or  daring. 

Sir  Andrew  wrote  his  challenge,  but  when  finished  it 
was  such  an  extraordinary  production  that  Sir  Toby 
decided  not  to  deliver  it. 

"  The  behaviour  of  the  young  gentleman,"  he  said, 
"  shows  him  to  be  of  good  capacity  and  breeding ;  there- 
fore this  letter,  being  so  excellently  ignorant,  will  not 
terrify  him  in  the  least  ;  he  will  know  it  comes  from  a 
clodpole.  I  will  deliver  his  challenge  by  word  of  mouth, 
give  a  notable  report  of  Aguecheek's  valour,  and  drive  the 
gentleman,  who  is  so  young  I  know  he  will  readily  believe 
it,  into  a  most  hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  fury,  and 
impetuosity.  This  will  so  frighten  them  both  that  they 
will  kill  each  other  by  the  look,  like  cockatrices." 

What  Sir  Toby  had  planned  came  to  pass,  and  he  and 
Fabian  were  soon  hugely  enjoying  the  success  of  their 
joke.  They  first  found  Viola,  and  delivered  Sir  Andrew's 
challenge,  assuring  her  that  he  was  terribly  incensed,  and 
was  a  most  dangerous  adversary. 

"  If  you  hold  your  life  at  any  price,  betake  you  to  your 
guard,"  counselled  Sir  Toby,  "for  your  opponent  has 
everything  that  youth,  strength,  skill,  and  wrath  can 
furnish  a  man  with." 

Poor  Viola  was  in  the  greatest  alarm  on  hearing  of 
the  encounter  that  awaited  her  ;  she  would  gladly  have 
wriggled  out  of  it  if  she  could,  but  Sir  Toby  would  listen 
to  no  excuses. 

"  I  will  return  again  to  the  house,  and  desire  some 
escort  of  the  lady,"  said  Viola.     "  I  am  no  fighter." 

But  Sir  Toby  insisted  that  she  positively  must  fight  with 


The    Challenge 


Sir  Andrew,  that  he  had  real  ground  of  injury,  and  that 
if  she  dechned  to  fight  with  him  she  would  have  to  fight 
with  himself,  which  would  be  just  as  dangerous. 

"  This  is  as  uncivil  as  strange,"  said  poor  Viola,  in- 
wardly  quaking  with  terror.     "  I  beseech  you,  do  me  the 
courtesy  to  find  out  from  the  knight 
what  my  offence  is  ;  it  must  be  some 
oversight   on    my  part — certainly   I 
have  done  nothing  on  purpose." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  said  Sir  Toby. 
"  Signor  Fabian,  stay  with  this 
gentleman  tiU  my  return." 

Sir  Toby  went  off  in  search  of  Sir 
Andrew,  to  whom  he  proceeded  to 
give  the  most  glowing  account  of  the 
young  page's  furious  disposition,  and 
his  marvellous  skill  in  fencing.  Sir 
Andrew  was  in  a  perfect  agony 
of  fear. 

"  If  I  thought  he  had  been 
valiant  and  so  cunning  in  fence, 
I  would  have  seen  him  hanged 
before  I  would  have  challenged 
him  !"  he  cried  miserably.  "  Let 
him  let  the  matter  slip,  and  I 
will  give  him  my  horse,  Gray 
Capilet." 

"  I  will  suggest  it  to  him,"  said  Sir  Toby.  "  Stand 
here,  make  a  good  show  of  it ;  this  shall  end  without  loss 
of  hfe."  Then,  with  a  chuclde  to  himself  :  "  Marry,  I'll 
ride  your  horse,  as  well  as  I  ride  you  !  ...  I  have  his  horse 

igg 


I  am  no  fighter." 


Twelfth    Night 


to  take  up  the  quarrel,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice  to 
Fabian.     "  I  have  persuaded  him  the  youth  is  a  fury." 

"  He  thinks  just  as  horribly  of  Sir  Andrew,"  laughed 
back  Fabian,  "  and  pants  and  looks  pale  as  if  a  bear  were 
at  his  heels." 

''  There  is  no  remedy,  sir  ;  he  will  fight  with  you, 
because  of  his  oath,"  announced  Sir  Toby  to  Viola.  "  He 
has  thought  better  of  his  quarrel,  and  finds  now  that  is 
scarcely  worth  talking  of ;  therefore  draw,  for  the  sake 
of  his  vow  ;  he  protests  he  will  not  hurt  you." 

"  Pray  heaven  defend  me,"  murmured  Viola  aside.  "  A 
little  thing  woul:'  make  me  tell  them  how  much  I  lack 
of  a  man." 

"  Give  ground,  if  you  see  him  furious,"  advised  Fabian 
apart  to  Viola. 

"  Come,  Sir  Andrew,  there  is  no  remedy,"  said  Sir 
Toby  aside  to  the  other  trembling  combatant.  "  The 
gentleman  will,  for  his  honour's  sake,  have  one  bout  with 
you  ;  he  cannot,  by  the  laws  of  duelling,  avoid  it  ;  but 
he  has  promised  me,  as  he  is  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  he 
will  not  hurt  you.     Come  on  ;  begin  !" 

"  Pray  heaven  he  keep  his  oath !"  murmured  Sir 
Andrew. 

"  I  do  assure  you  it  is  against  my  will,"  said  Viola 
piteously. 

The  two  unhappy  champions  then  reluctantly  allowed 
themselves  to  be  almost  dragged  into  position  by  their 
determined  seconds,  who  had  much  ado  to  prevent  them 
both  ignominiously  taking  to  their  heels.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  say  which  was  in  the  most  abject  state  of  fear. 
Sir  Andrew  was  quaking  in  every  limb,  and  Viola  turned 

200 


The    Challenge 


quite  pale  at  the  sight  of  her  own  sword.  But  before 
their  shaking  weapons  managed  to  meet  there  came  an 
interruption.  Antonio,  the  sea-captain,  passed  that  way, 
and  seeing  Viola,  he  thought  it  was  Sebastian,  for  in  her 
page's  dress  Viola  had  copied  her  brother  in  every  par- 
ticular. 

Ever  careful  for  Sebastian's  safety,  Antonio  at  once 
mterfered. 

"  Put  up  your  sword,"  he  said  to  Sir  Andrew.  "  If  this 
young  gentleman  has  offended  you  m  any  way,  I  take  the 
fault  on  me.     If  you  offend  him,  I  will  fight  you  for  him." 

"  You,  sir  !  Why,  what  are  you  ?"  demanded  Sir 
Toby,  not  at  all  pleased  to  have  his  ]oke  spoilt  m  this 
fashion. 

"  One,  sir,  who  for  his  love  dares  yet  do  more  than 
you  have  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will,"  said  Antonio 
proudly. 

"  Nay,  if  you  are  a  boaster,  I  am  for  you,"  said  Sir 
Toby,  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  no  coward. 

The  swords  clashed  m  good  earnest  this  time,  but  again 
there  came  an  interruption.  Some  officers  arrived,  who 
proceeded  to  arrest  Antonio  at  the  suit  of  Duke  Orsmo ; 
he  had  been  seen  and  recognised  as  an  ancient  enemy; 
there  was  no  escape. 

"  This  comes  with  seeking  you,"  said  Antonio  to  Viola, 
whom  he  took  for  Sebastian  ;  "  but  there  is  no  remedy,  I 
shall  answer  it.  What  will  you  do  now  that  my  necessity 
makes  me  ask  you  for  my  purse  ?  I  am  much  more 
grieved  for  what  I  am  prevented  doing  for  you  than  for 
anything  that  befalls  myself.  You  stand  amazed,  but 
be  comforted." 

20T 


Twelfth    Night 


*'  Come,  sir,  away,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  as  Viola 
stood  staring  in  astonishment  at  Antonio.  Of  course  she 
did  not  know  in  the  least  what  he  meant,  for  she  had  never 
seen  him  before  in  her  life. 

"  I  must  entreat  of  you  some  of  that  money,"  pleaded 
Antonio. 

"  What  money,  sir  ?"  asked  Viola.  "  Because  of  the 
kindness  you  have  shown  me  here,  and  partly  prompted 
by  your  present  trouble,  I  will  lend  you  something  out 
of  my  own  very  small  means  ;  I  have  not  much.  I  will 
divide  with  you  what  I  have.  Hold  !  there  is  half  my 
purse." 

Antonio  was  deeply  wounded  by  such  apparent  in- 
gratitude from  one  for  whom  he  had  done  so  much.  He 
was  reluctant  to  proclaim  his  own  good  deeds,  but  when 
Viola  persisted  in  declaring  that  she  did  not  know  him, 
he  could  not  help  relating  how  he  had  saved  the  youth 
from  shipwreck,  and  what  devotion  he  had  lavished  on 
him  afterwards.  In  telling  this,  he  called  him  by  his 
name,  as  he  thought — "  Sebastian  " — but  he  was  hurried 
away  by  the  officers  before  Viola  had  time  to  answer. 

This  name  "  Sebastian  "  filled  her  with  sudden  hope  ; 
she  knew  how  closely  she  resembled  her  brother,  and  she 
had  imitated  the  same  fashion,  colour,  and  ornament 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  wear.  Perhaps,  then,  the 
tempests  had  been  kind  and  Sebastian  was  reall}^  saved. 

"  A  very  dishonest,  paltry  boy,  and  more  a  coward 
than  a  hare,"  was  Sir  Toby's  disgusted  comment,  as  Viola 
walked  off.  "  His  dishonesty  appears  in  leaving  his 
friend  here  in  necessity,  and  denying  him  ;  and  for  his 
cowardice,  ask  Fabian." 

202 


Yellow    Stockings 

"  A  coward — a  most  devout  coward,"  agreed  Fabian. 

"  Ha,  I'll  after  him  again,  and  beat  him,"  said  the 
valiant  Sir  Andrew. 

"  Do,  cuff  him  soundly,  but  never  draw  your  sword," 
said  Sir  Toby. 

"If  I  do  not "  bragged  Sir  Andrew,  swaggering 

away. 

"  Come,  let  us  see  what  happens,"  said  Fabian. 

"  I  dare  lay  any  money,  it  will  be  nothing,  after  all," 
said  Sir  Toby  shrewdly. 


Yellow  Stockings 

Olivia  was  very  sad  when  Viola,  or  the  young  page 
Cesario,  as  she  thought  her,  went  away  saying  that  no 
woman  should  ever  win  his  heart ;  and  feeling  that  Mal- 
volio's  grave  dignity  just  suited  her  present  mood,  she 
asked  for  her  steward. 

"  He  is  coming,  madam,  but  m  very  strange  manner," 
said  the  naughty  Maria.  "He  is  surely  possessed, 
madam." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?     Doth  he  rave  ?" 

"  No,  madam,  he  does  nothing  but  smile.  Y©ur  lady- 
ship were  best  to  have  some  guard  about  you  if  he  come ; 
for,  sure,  the  man  has  something  wrong  with  his  wits." 

"  Go,  call  him  hither,"  said  Olivia. 

When  Maria  returned  with  Malvolio,  Olivia  was 
amazed  to  see  the  extraordinary  change  that  had  come 
over  her  usually  sober  and  sedate  steward.  Malvolio 
advanced  with  mincing  step  and  many  fantastic  gestures, 

203 


Twelfth    Night 

which  he  intended  to  represent  gracious  affability  ;  his 
lantern  jaws  and  severe  features  were  twisted  into  strange 
grimaces,  which  he  imagined  to  be  fascinating  smiles  ; 
his  lanky  legs  were  encased  in  brilliant  yellow  stockings, 
and  were  further  adorned  with  cross-gartering  from  the 
ankle  upwards.  Olivia  thought  he  must  certainly  be 
bereft  of  his  wits,  especially  when,  in  answer  to  all  her 
questions,  he  poured  forth  a  series  of  incomprehensible 
remarks.  They  were  really  quotations  from  the  letter 
he  had  picked  up,  but  Olivia,  of  course,  did  not  know  this, 
and  to  her  they  sounded  like  senseless  jargon.  Malvolio 
kept  on  bowing  and  smirking,  and  kissing  his  hand  to 
Olivia,  while  he  waved  Maria  aside  with  intense  scorn. 
Olivia  was  really  distressed  to  think  of  the  sudden  calamity 
that  had  befallen  the  poor  man's  wits,  for  she  valued  his 
honesty  and  faithful  service.  She  gave  directions  that  her 
people  should  take  especial  care  of  him,  and  sent  Maria 
to  find  Sir  Toby  to  look  after  him. 

Malvolio  was  quite  pleased  to  find  himself  of  such  im- 
portance, and  continued  his  self-complacent  reflections 
on  the  greatness  which  he  thought  he  had  achieved.  He 
was  firmly  convinced  that  Olivia  really  liked  him,  and 
that  she  had  only  sent  for  Sir  Toby  on  purpose  that  he 
might  be  severe  with  him,  as  the  letter  advised.  When 
Maria  reappeared  with  Sir  Toby  and  Fabian,  he  treated 
them  all  with  the  most  lofty  disdain.  They  were  greatly 
delighted  with  the  success  of  their  trick,  and  determined 
to  carry  on  the  joke  still  further.  Pretending  to  think 
that  Malvolio  had  really  lost  his  wits,  they  had  him  bound 
and  carried  to  a  dark  room.  Then  Feste,  the  clown, 
disguised  his  voice,  and  spoke  to  him  as  if  he  were  a 

204 


Yellow    Stockings 

curate,  come  to  visit  him  in  his  misfortune.  He  had  an 
argument  with  MalvoHo,  in  which  the  poor  man  made  it 
quite  apparent  that  he  was  still  in  possession  of  his  proper 
reason.  But  Feste,  or  Sir  Topas,  as  he  called  himself 
for  this  occasion,  would  not  hold  out  any  hope  of  release, 
and,  as  far  as  Malvolio  could  tell  in  his  dark  prison, 
presently  departed,  without  bringing  him  any  comfort. 

Sir  Toby  now  began  to  think  the  joke  had  gone  far 
enough,  and  that  it  was  time  to  release  Malvolio  as  soon 
as  it  could  conveniently  be  done.  He  knew  that  Olivia 
would  be  seriously  displeased  if  she  came  to  learn  what 
had  happened,  and  he  was  already  so  deep  in  disgrace 
with  his  niece  that  he  could  not  with  safety  pursue  the 
sport  any  further.  He  therefore  told  the  clown  to  speak 
to  Malvolio  in  his  own  voice.  Feste  began  singing  one 
of  his  songs,  as  if  he  had  just  come  near,  and  Malvolio, 
recognising  it,  called  piteously  to  him  for  help. 

"  Good  fool,  as  ever  you  will  deserve  well  at  my 
hand,  help  me  to  a  candle,  and  pen,  ink,  and  paper  ; 
as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will  live  to  be  thankful  to  you 
for  it  !" 

The  clown  still  went  on  teasing  Malvolio  a  little  before 
he  would  grant  his  request,  but  finally  said  he  would  get 
what  he  wanted,  and  went  off  to  fetch  a  light  and  writing 
materials.  Malvolio  wrote  his  letter,  which  the  clown 
duly  delivered,  and  which  clearly  proved  that  the  poor 
man  was  quite  sane,  though  justly  indignant  at  the  way 
m  which  he  had  been  treated.  Olivia  ordered  his  imme- 
diate release,  and  when  Malvolio  came  and  bitterly 
reproached  her  for  the  letter  she  had  written,  and  the 
way  in  which  he  had  been  befooled,  she  assured  him  that 

205 


Twelfth    Night 


the  fault  was  none  of  hers,  and  that  the  handwriting  was 
Maria's. 

Fabian  then  stepped  forward  and  took  the  whole  blame 
on  himself  and  vSir  Toby.  He  said  they  had  played  this 
trick  on  Malvolio  because  of  his  ill-nature  towards  them- 
selves. Maria  had  only  written  the  letter  under  great 
persuasion  from  Sir  Toby,  who  now,  out  of  recompense, 
had  married  her.  Fabian  added  that  he  thought  the 
playful  malice  with  which  the  joke  was  carried  out 
deserved  laughter  rather  than  revenge,  if  the  injuries  on 
both  sides  were  justly  weighed. 

"  Alas,  poor  fool,  how  have  they  baffled  thee  !"  said 
Olivia. 

"  I'll  be  revenged  on  the  whole  pack  of  you,"  cried 
Malvolio,  taking  himself  off  in  a  terrible  fury. 

And  the  laughter  of  the  others  was  checked  by  the 
stern  rebuke  of  Olivia  : 

"  He  has  been  treated  most  shamefully." 


Sebastian  and  Viola 

Olivia,  wishing  to  speak  once  more  with  the  young 
page  Cesario,  sent  the  clown  in  search  of  him,  but  Feste, 
by  chance,  happened  to  meet  Sebastian  instead,  and  think- 
ing he  was  the  person  he  was  in  search  of,  he  delivered 
his  lady's  message  to  him. 

Sebastian  could  not  understand  in  the  least  what  he 
meant,  but  he  was  still  further  surprised  when  a  very 
foolish-looking  gentleman  ran  up  to  him,  and  struck  him 
a  blow,  saying  : 

206 


Sebastian    and    Viola 

"  Now,  sir,  have  I  met  you  again  ?     There's  for  you  !" 

"  Why,  there's  for  you,  and  there,  and  there  !"  re- 
torted Sebastian,  repaying  his  blows  with  interest.  "  Are 
all  the  people  mad  ?" 

Sir  Andrew  was  surprised  and  very  much  disgusted  to 
find  that  the  young  man  whom  they  had  taken  for  a 
coward  could  strike  so  vigorously  with  his  fists.  Sir 
Toby  interfered  on  behalf  of  his  timorous  friend,  and  he 
and  Sebastian  had  drawn  their  swords  to  fight  in  earnest, 
when  Olivia,  warned  by  Feste,  came  hurrying  up.  She 
sternly  commanded  Sir  Toby  to  stay  his  hand,  and 
implored  Sebastian,  whom  she  took  for  Cesario,  to  pardon 
the  rudeness  of  her  kinsman,  and  to  go  with  her  into  the 
house. 

"  Either  I  am  mad  or  else  this  is  a  dream,"  thought  the 
bewildered  Sebastian,  when  he  heard  this  beautiful  lady 
speaking  to  him  as  if  he  were  already  a  dear  friend. 
But,  dream  or  not,  it  was  extremely  pleasant,  and  he  was 
quite  willing  that  the  illusion  should  continue.  "  If  it  be 
thus  to  dream,  let  me  sleep  still,"  he  said  to  himself. 

This  handsome  young  gallant  was  by  no  means  so 
indifferent  to  the  Countess  Olivia  as  Cesario  had  been, 
and  when  she  proposed  that  they  should  be  married  at 
once,  he  was  quite  willing  to  consent.  He  would  gladly 
have  consulted  his  kind  friend  Antonio,  the  sea-captain, 
but  this  was  not  possible,  for  on  going  to  the  Elephant 
Inn,  which  was  the  place  of  meeting  arranged,  Antonio 
had  never  appeared  to  keep  his  appointment.  The  reason 
we  know  already,  although  Sebastian  did  not — Antonio 
had  been  arrested  by  Duke  Orsino's  officers. 

The  marriage  had  only  taken  place  two  hours,  when 

207 


Twelfth    Night 


Orsino,  accompanied  by  Viola,  came  to  Olivia's  house, 
and  almost  immediately  afterwards  Antonio  was  led  in 
by  the  officers.  Now  came  fresh  confusion  ;  Antonio 
again  thought  Viola  was  Sebastian,  and  taxed  him 
bitterly  with  his  ingratitude.  Viola  stoutly  denied  ever 
having  seen  Antonio  before,  except  on  the  one  occasion 
when  he  had  saved  him  from  the  valiant  Sir  Andrew. 
Antonio  declared  that  for  the  last  three  months  they  had 
never  parted  company,  day  or  night,  whereupon  the  Duke 
declared  his  words  must  be  madness,  because  for  the  last 
three  months  the  youth  had  been  his  own  attendant. 

Then  came  Olivia,  who  thought  that  Viola  was  the 
man  to  whom  she  had  been  married,  and  amazed  her  by 
calling  her  "  husband."  The  priest  who  had  actually 
married  them  was  called  as  witness,  and  declared  this 
was  true.  It  was  now  the  Duke's  turn  to  be  indignant 
with  Viola  for  her  supposed  deceit  and  treachery,  for  he 
thought  that  when  he  had  sent  Cesario  to  woo  Olivia  on 
his  behalf,  the  young  page  had  taken  the  opportunity 
to  secure  the  lady  for  himself. 

Matters  were  in  this  tangled  state  of  confusion,  when 
all  was  happily  put  right  by  the  arrival  of  Sebastian. 
When  the  twins  stood  together  everyone  was  amazed  at 
the  resemblance.  The  brother  and  sister  were  delighted 
to  meet  once  more.  Antonio  found  that  his  friend  was 
not  the  monster  of  ingratitude  he  had  taken  him  for  ; 
and  Olivia  was  restored  to  a  handsome  and  devoted 
husband,  who  had  no  intention  of  denying  his  own  wife. 

Orsino  might  perhaps  have  been  sad  at  discovering 
that  the  Countess  Olivia  was  now  lost  to  him  for  ever, 
but  while  a  charming  young  bride  stood  ready  at  his 

208 


Sebastian    and    Viola 

hand,    he    was   not    unwilhng    to    be    consoled.     Viola's 
faithful  service  met  its  reward. 

"  Since  you  have  called  me  '  master  '  for  so  long," 
said  the  Duke,  "  here  is  my  hand  ;  you  shall  from  this 
time  be  your  master's  mistress." 

Olivia  said  that  Viola  and  the  Duke  must  now  look  ca/ 
her  as  a  sister,  and  that  the  wedding  should  take  place 
from  her  house. 

So  they  all  trooped  merrily  away,  and  Feste,  the  clown, 
was  left  singing  to  himself : 

"  When  that  I  was  and  a  httle  tiny  boy, 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
A  fooHsh  thing  was  but  a  toy, 
For  the  rain  it  raineih  every  day. 

"  But  when  I  came  to  man's  estate, 

With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
'Gainst  knaves  and  thieves  men  shut  their  gate, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

"  A  great  while  ago  the  world  begun, 
With  hey,  ho.  the  wind  and  the  rain. 
But  that's  all  one,  our  play  is  done, 

And  we'll  strive  to  please  you  every  day." 


309 


The  Masked  Ball 


HERE  was  a  long-standing  feud  between 
the  houses  of  Montague  and  Capulet, 
two  of  the  noblest  families  of  ancient 
Italy,  and  the  narrow  streets  of  Verona 
rang  constantly  with  the  sound  of 
brawl  and  strife.  The  enmity  between 
the  heads  of  the  family  and  their  noble  kinsmen  descended, 
of  course,  to  their  retainers,  and  the  servants  of  both 
houses  never  met  without  quarrel,  and  frequent  blood- 

2IU 


The    Masked    Bali 

shed.  The  Prince  of  Verona  vainly  tried  to  stop  this 
incessant  bickering  ;  again  and  again  it  burst  out  with 
renewed  fury.  Three  serious  outbreaks  had  already 
occurred  in  the  city,  when  not  only  the  servants  of  the 
families,  but  even  respectable  citizens  had  joined  in  the 
fray,  and  became  for  the  moment  furious  partisans  of 
one  side  or  the  other.  Finally,  the  Prince,  enraged  by 
another  of  these  skirmishes,  started  by  the  servants,  but 
joined  in  afterwards  by  the  heads  of  the  houses  them- 
selves, pronounced  sentence  indignantly  on  Montague  and 
Capulet.  If  ever  they  disturbed  the  streets  again,  he 
declared,  their  lives  should  pay  the  forfeit  of  the  peace. 

When  the  rioters  had  dispersed  and  the  Prince  had 
retired.  Lady  Montague  began  to  make  anxious  inquiry 
about  her  son,  saying  how  glad  she  was  he  had  not  been 
in  the  fray.  Her  nephew  Benvolio  replied  that  an  hour 
before  dawn,  driven  to  walk  abroad  by  a  troubled  mind, 
he  had  seen  young  Romeo  walking  in  a  grove  of  sycamore 
outside  the  city,  but  that,  as  soon  as  Romeo  became  aware 
of  his  approach,  he  stole  awa}^  into  the  covert  of  the  wood. 
To  this  Montague  added  that  his  son  had  been  seen  there 
many  mornings,  evidently  in  deep  sorrow,  and  that  when 
he  was  in  the  house  he  penned  himself  up  in  his  own  room, 
shut  up  his  windows,  locked  out  the  fair  daylight,  and 
made  an  artificial  night  for  himself.  Montague  neither 
knew  the  cause  of  this  strange  behaviour,  nor  could  he 
learn  it  of  him,  though  both  he  and  his  friends  had 
earnestly  entreated  Romeo  to  tell  them  the  cause  of  his 
grief. 

At  this  moment  the  young  man  himself  came  in  sight, 
and  Benvolio  hastily  begged  his  uncle  and  Lady  Montague 

3tJ  Q  :> 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

to  step  aside,  saying  that  he  would  certainly  find  out 
what  was  the  matter.  Perhaps  Benvolio  used  more  tact 
in  deahng  with  his  cousin,  or  perhaps  Romeo  was  at  last 
not  sorry  to  confide  his  trouble  ;  at  any  rate,  he  confessed 
to  Benvolio  that  the  reason  of  his  unhappiness  was  that 
he  was  in  love  with  a  beautiful  lady  called  Rosaline,  who 
v^as  very  cold  and  indifferent,  and  did  not  in  the  least 
return  his  affection. 

As  there  seemed  no  hope  of  Romeo's  winning  the  lady, 
Benvolio  very  sensibly  advised  him  to  think  no  more 
about  her,  but  to  try  to  find  someone  else  equally  beauti- 
ful and  charming.  Romeo  replied  that  this  was  quite 
impossible,  but  Benvolio  did  not  at  all  despair  of  effecting 
his  cure. 

And,  as  it  happened,  the  very  remedy  suggested  was 
successful,  and  that  within  the  next  few  hours.  This 
was  how  it  came  about. 

The  rival  house  of  Capulet,  like  that  of  Montague, 
boasted  of  but  one  child,  but  while  the  Montagues'  was 
a  son,  Romeo,  the  Capulets'  only  surviving  offspring  was 
a  daughter,  a  lovely  young  girl  called  Juliet. 

Up  to  the  present  Juhet  had  been  too  youthful  to  take 
part  in  the  gaieties  of  the  world,  but  a  certain  noble  young 
Count  called  Paris,  a  kinsman  of  the  Prince  of  Verona, 
had  already  been  attracted  by  her  charms,  and  now 
begged  permission  from  her  father  to  pay  his  suit  to  her. 
Capulet  replied  that  Juliet  was  very  young  still  to  think  of 
marriage,  but  that  if  Paris  liked  to  try  to  win  her  heart, 
and  succeeded  in  doing  so,  he  would  willingly  add  his 
consent  to  hers.  Further,  he  said  that  he  was  holding 
that  night  an  old-accustomed  feast,  to  which  he  had  invited 

212, 


The    Masked    Ball 

a  number  of  guests,  including  many  beautiful  maidens  ; 
among  them  Paris  would  behold  his  daughter,  and  he 
could  then  compare  her  with  others,  and  judge  whether 
she  still  surpassed  them  as  he  now  thought.  He  was  to 
see  all,  hear  all,  and  to  hke  her  the  best  whose  merit 
should  be  the  most. 

The  servant  sent  out  by  Capulet  to  carry  his  invitations 
was  no  scholar,  and  happening  to  meet  Romeo  and  Ben- 
volio,  he  appealed  to  them  to  read  over  to  him  the  list  of 
invited  guests.  Among  the  names  written  there,  Romeo 
found  that  of  Rosaline,  with  other  admired  beauties  of 
Verona,  and  Benvolio  advised  him  to  go  to  the  ball,  and 
without  prejudice  to  compare  her  face  with  some  of  the 
other  ladies  present,  when  he  would  find  that,  after  all, 
she  was  no  such  paragon. 

Romeo  replied  that  he  would  go,  not  for  this  reason, 
but  to  delight  in  the  splendour  of  his  own  lady. 

Even  although  it  was  to  an  enemy's  house  he  was 
going,  and  he  was  placing  himself  in  grave  peril  if  his 
identity  were  discovered,  it  was  not  a  difficult  matter  for 
Romeo  to  gain  admittance  to  the  Capulets,  for  all  the 
guests  were  to  go  in  fancy  dress,  and  wear  masks.  Romeo 
chose  the  disguise  of  a  pilgrim.  When  the  night  came  he 
was  still  sad  at  heart,  and  declared  he  would  join  in  no 
dancing  ;  he  had  a  soul  of  lead  that  bore  him  to  the 
ground,  so  that  he  could  hardly  move. 

Besides  Benvolio,  on  this  night,  Romeo  had  with  him 
another  friend,  a  very  light-hearted,  witty  gentleman, 
called  Mercutio,  a  kinsman  of  the  Prince  of  Verona.  As 
they  went  along,  Mercutio  tried  to  laugh  Romeo  out  of  his 
melancholy  mood,   and  to  chase  away  his  sadness  with 

213 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

his  gay  chatter.  But  nothing  he  could  say  served  to 
cheer  up  Romeo  ;  a  dark  misgiving  seemed  to  hang  over 
him,  and  it  was  with  no  festive  spirit  that  he  entered  the 
brilhantly  hghted  hall  of  Capulet's  house. 

All  here  was  splendour  and  gaiety.  Crowds  of  quaintly 
dressed  figures  wandered  to  and  fro.  Capulet  himself, 
with  his  daughter  Juliet  and  others  of  his  house,  received 
the  guests,  and  gave  them  a  hearty  welcome.  Then  the 
music  began,  and  the  dancers  grouped  themselves  for 
the  stately  and  graceful  measures  of  those  days. 

Romeo  was  late  in  arriving,  and  the  dancing  had  already 
begun  when  he  entered  the  hall.  He  stood  for  awhile 
looking  on  at  the  scene.  His  Rosaline,  no  doubt,  was  there, 
among  other  proud  beauties  of  Verona,  but  to-night  her 
sway  was  to  be  broken  for  ever.  For  there  among  the 
dancers  was  one  who  far  surpassed  her  fellows,  even  as  a 
snowy  dove  trooping  with  crows.  In  the  dazzling  radiance 
of  her  first  youthful  bloom,  moved  the  daughter  of  the 
house,  and  when  he  saw  this  slender  maiden  with  her 
peerless  beauty,  and  her  locks  of  shining  gold,  all  lesser 
feelings  melted  out  of  Romeo's  heart,  and  he  knew  he  had 
never  really  loved  till  now. 

Romeo's  half-uttered  exclamations  of  rapture  were 
overheard  by  a  nephew^  of  Lady  Capulet's,  a  fiery  noble- 
man called  Tybalt,  always  ready  for  brawls  and  quarrel- 
ling. 

"  This,  by  his  voice,  should  be  a  Montague,"  he  said,  and 
immediately  ordered  his  page  to  fetch  his  rapier.  "  How 
dares  the  slave  come  hither,  covered  with  an  antic  face,  to 
fleer  and  scorn  at  our  solemnity  ?  Now,  by  the  honour  of 
my  kin,  I  would  hold  it  no  sin  to  strike  him  dead." 

214 


The    Masked    Ball 

**  Why,  how  now,  kinsman  ?  Why  do  you  storm  so  ?** 
asked  Capulet. 

"  Uncle,  this  is  a  Montague,  our  foe — a  villain  who  hai 
come  here  in  spite  to  scorn  at  our  solemnity." 

"  Young  Romeo,  is  it  ?" 

"  It  is  he— that  villain  Romeo  !" 

"  Content  you,  gentle  cousin,  let  him  alone,"  said 
Capulet.  "  He  bears  himself  like  a  gallant  gentleman, 
and  to  say  truth,  Verona  boasts  him  to  be  a  virtuous 
and  well-governed  youth.  I  would  not  for  the  wealth 
of  all  the  town  do  him  any  wrong  here  in  my  house. 
Therefore  be  patient,  take  no  notice  of  him — it  is  my  will, 
and  if  you  respect  it,  show  an  amiable  face,  and  put  off 
those  frowns,  which  are  not  a  pleasing  expression  at  a 
feast." 

"  It  fits  when  such  a  villain  is  a  guest,"  said  Tybalt 
sullenly.     "  I'll  not  endure  him  !" 

"  He  shall  be  endured,"  said  Capulet  sternly.  "  What, 
goodman  boy  !  I  say  he  shall ;  go  to  !  Am  I  the  master 
here,  or  you  ?  Go  to  !  You'll  not  endure  hnn  !  You'll 
make  a  mutiny  among  my  guests  !    You'll  be  the  man  !" 

"  Why,  uncle,  it's  a  shame,"  persisted  Tybalt. 

"  Go    to — go    to  !"    cried    the    exasperated    old    man, 

"  You  are  a  saucy  boy  !     Go  !     Be  quiet,  or More 

light  !     More  light  ! — I'll  make  you  quiet." 

Burning  with  wrath  against  Romeo,  and  furious  at  the 
rebuke  which  his  presumption  had  won  from  his  uncle, 
Tybalt  withdrew,  silenced  for  the  moment,  but  his  heart 
filled  with  the  bitterest  spite,  and  determining  to  be 
revenged  at  the  first  opportunity  for  the  humiliation 
he  had  suffered. 

215 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

In  the  meanwhile  the  dance  was  ended,  and  Romeo 
had  been  able  to  approach  Juliet.  In  his  role  of  a 
pilgrim  he  carried  on  with  her  a  half-jesting  conversation 
which  barely  veiled  the  deep  devotion  he  was  already 
begmning  to  feel ;  and,  according  to  the  customs  of  those 
days,  he  was  even  permitted  to  salute  the  lady  with  a 
courteous  kiss. 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  Juliet's  nurse, 
who  came  to  summon  Juliet  to  her  mother,  and  then 
Romeo  learnt  for  the  first  time  that  the  young  girl  who 
had  so  enchanted  him  was  the  daughter  of  the  house,  a 
Capulet,  the  child  of  his  foe. 

And  a  few  minutes  later,  Juliet,  also  making  eager  in- 
quiry about  the  young  guest  in  the  guise  of  a  pilgrim, 
heard  that  his  name  was  Romeo,  a  Montague,  the  only 
son  of  the  great  enemy  of  her  father's  house. 


Mercutio 

When  the  ball  was  over,  Romeo's  friends,  Mercutio  and 
Benvolio,  looked  for  him  to  return  with  them,  but  Romeo 
was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Unable  to  leave  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  lady  who  had  so  suddenly  taken  posses- 
sion of  his  heart,  Romeo  had  scaled  the  wall  of  Capulet's 
orchard.  As  he  drew  near  the  house,  a  window  above 
opened,  and  Juliet  herself  stepped  out  on  to  a  balcony. 
Romeo  was  hidden  among  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  but 
the  silver  rays  of  a  summer  moon  shone  full  on  Juliet, 
and  lighted  up  her  sweet  young  face  and  her  ball-dress  of 
shimmering  white  satin. 

216 


Mercutio 

Like  Romeo,  Juliet  was  sad  at  heart,  for  all  her  thoughts 
were  running  on  the  gallant  young  stranger,  and  it 
grieved  her  to  remember  that  he  was  the  son  of  her 
father's  enemy.  Beheving  herself  to  be  alone,  Juhet 
spoke  her  meditations  aloud,  and  in  the  silence  of  the 
night  they  were  clearly  heard  by  the  unseen  listener 
below. 

"  O  Romeo,  Romeo  !  Wherefore  art  thou  Romeo  ?" 
she  sighed.  "  Deny  thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name. 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  only  swear  to  love  me,  and  I'll  no 
longer  be  a  Capulet." 

"  Shall  I  hear  more,  or  shall  I  speak  at  this  ?"  said 
Romeo  to  himself,  enraptured  at  hearing  such  words. 

"  Tt  is  only  thy  name  that  is  my  enemy,"  continued 
Juliet.  "  What's  '  Montague  '  ?  It  is  not  hand,  nor 
foot,  nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part  belonging  to 
a  man.  O,  be  some  other  name  !  What's  in  a  name  ? 
That  which  we  call  a  rose  by  any  other  name  would  smell 
as  sweet.  .  .  .  Romeo,  doff  thy  name,  and  for  that  name 
which  is  no  part  of  thee,  take  all  myself  !" 

"  I  take  thee  at  thy  word  !"  cried  Romeo,  unable  to 
keep  silence  any  longer.  "  Call  me  but  love,  and  I  will 
be  new  baptized  ;  henceforth  I  never  will  be  Romeo  !" 

Juliet  was  greatly  startled  to  find  that  her  rash  words 
had  been  overheard,  but  she  soon  recognised  the  voice 
to  be  that  of  Romeo.  She  warned  him  of  the  peril  he 
ran  if  he  should  be  discovered,  but  Romeo  cared  little  for 
the  swords  of  her  kinsmen,  provided  that  he  won  the  love 
of  the  lady.  It  was  too  late  now  to  deny  what  she  had 
so  frankly  confessed,  and  the  darkness  of  the  night  hid 
Juliet's  blushes.     She  therefore  took  courage,  and  spoke 

217 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

out  candidly,  saying  that  if  Romeo  really  loved  her,  let 
him  pronounce  it  faithfully,  and  though  he  might  think 
she  was  too  easily  won,  yet  she  would  prove  more  true 
than  many  who  had  more  cunning  in  feigning  coldness. 

Romeo  was  all  fire  and  eagerness,  and  was  beginning 
to  swear  his  unswerving  constancy  when  Juliet  checked 
him.  Her  heart  was  still  troubled,  and,  though  she  re- 
joiced to  find  that  Romeo  loved  her,  she  could  scarcely 
rejoice  in  the  contract  they  had  made  ;  it  seemed  too 
rash,  too  unadvised,  too  sudden,  to  last.  But  if  Romeo's 
purpose  still  held,  and  he  wished  to  marry  her,  Juliet  bade 
him  send  word  the  next  day  by  a  trusty  messenger,  where 
and  at  what  time  the  ceremony  should  be  performed  ; 
and  she  would  lay  all  her  fortune  at  his  feet,  and  follow 
him,  her  husband,  throughout  the  world. 

In  this  sudden  emergency  Romeo  kaew  to  whom  to 
apply.  There  was  a  good  old  man,  called  Friar  Laurence, 
a  friend  of  both  the  families,  who  was  much  grieved  at 
the  bitter  dissension  between  them,  and  had  many  times 
tried  to  induce  them  to  become  reconciled.  Friar 
Laurence  had  often  chided  Romeo  for  his  extravagant 
doating  on  Rosaline,  and  his  unrestrained  grief  because 
she  would  not  listen  to  him.  The  good  man  was  some- 
what astonished  at  this  sudden  turn  of  events  ;  he  fore- 
saw that  one  of  Romeo's  passionate,  excitable  nature  was 
never  likely  to  be  happy  ;  the  hot-headed  young  man 
was  alwa^^s  in  extremes,  either  in  a  state  of  rapture  or  in 
the  depths  of  despair.  He  would  listen  to  no  counsel, 
and  never  paused  to  reflect.  But  when  Friar  Laurence 
on  this  occasion  understood  what  was  wanted  of  him,  he 
did  not  refuse  his  aid,  for  he  thought  this  alliance  might 

218 


Mercutio 

prove  so  happy  that  it  would  turn  the  rancour  of  the 
two  households  into  peace  and  love.  So  word  was  sent 
to  Juliet,  and,  with  the  connivance  of  her  old  nurse,  who 
was  fully  in  the  confidence  of  the  two  young  lovers,  Juliet 
stole  away  the  next  morning  to  Friar  Laurence's  cell,  and 
was  there  secretly  married  to  Romeo. 

On  this  same  morning  of  the  marriage  it  happened 
that  Romeo's  friends,  Mercutio  and  Benvolio,  were  walk- 
ing through  Verona.  It  was  a  very  hot  day,  and  Ben- 
volio presently  suggested  they  should  go  home,  saying 
that  the  Capulets  were  abroad,  and  that  if  they  met,  they 
would  certainly  not  escape  a  brawl,  for  these  hot  days 
fevered  the  blood,  and  made  men  quarrelsome. 

Mercutio  laughed  at  Benvolio's  caution,  and  accused 
him  of  being  as  hot-tempered  a  man  as  any  in 
Italy. 

"  Nay,  if  there  were  two  such  we  should  have  none 
shortly,  for  one  would  kill  the  other,"  he  said  jeeringly. 
"  Thou  !  Wh}^  thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man  that  hath 
a  hair  more  or  a  hair  less  in  his  beard  than  thou  hast  ; 
thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man  for  cracking  nuts,  having 
no  other  reason  but  because  thou  hast  hazel  eyes.  Thy 
head  is  as  full  of  quarrels  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat.  Thou 
hast  quarrelled  with  a  man  for  coughing  in  the  street, 
because  he  hath  wakened  thy  dog  that  hath  lain  asleep 
in  the  sun.  Didst  thou  not  fall  out  with  a  tailor  for 
wearing  his  new  doublet  before  Easter,  and  with  another 
for  tying  his  new  shoes  with  old  riband  ?  And  yet  thou 
wilt  tutor  me  from  quarrelling  !" 

"  If  I  were  as  ready  to  quarrel  as  thou  art,"  retorted 

219 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

Benvolio,  "  any  man  should  buy  the  fee  simple  of  my 
life  for  an  hour  and  a  quarter." 

It  will  easily  be  seen  that  these  gentlemen  were  not  in 
the  most  amiable  frame  of  mind,  and  it  was  unfortunate 
that  at  that  moment  a  party  of  the  Capulets  should  come 
up,  among  them  being  the  fiery-tempered  nephew  of 
Lady  Capulet.  The  incident  of  the  night  before  still 
rankled  in  Tybalt's  mind,  and  any  friend  of  Romeo's 
was  fit  subject  on  which  to  wreak  his  spite.  But  Mer- 
cutio  was  not  a  man  to  brook  insult,  and  he  returned 
Tybalt's  insolence  with  interest. 

"  Gentlemen,  good-day  ;  a  word  with  one  of  you," 
said  Tybalt,  advancing. 

"  Only  one  word  with  one  of  us  ?"  said  Mercutio  in  a 
mocking  voice.  "  Couple  it  with  something  :  make  it  a 
word  and  a  blow." 

"  You  shall  find  me  apt  enough  at  that,  sir,  if  you  give 
me  occasion,"  said  Tybalt,  glaring  at  him. 

"  Could  you  not  take  some  occasion  without  giving  ?" 
sneered  Mercutio. 

"  Mercutio,  thou  consortest  with  Romeo " 

"  Consort  !"  echoed  Mercutio.  "  What,  do  you  make 
us  minstrels  ?  If  you  make  minstrels  of  us,  look  to  hear 
nothing  but  discords.  Here's  my  fiddlestick  ;  here's 
that  which  shall  make  you  dance  !"  And  he  laid  his  hand 
threateningly  on  his  sword. 

*'  We  talk  here  in  the  public  haunt  of  men,"  interposed 
Benvolio,  for  their  wrangling  had  begun  to  attract  the 
attention  of  two  or  three  inquisitive  passers-by.  "  Either 
withdraw  to  some  private  place,  and  talk  over  your 
grievances  calmly,  or  else  depart ;  here  all  eyes  gaze  on  us." 

220 


Mercutio 

"  Men^s  eyes  were  made  to  look,  and  let  them  gaze," 
said  Mercutio  coolly.  "  I  will  not  budge  for  any  man's 
pleasure,  I  !" 

"  Well,  peace  be  with  you,  sir ;  here  comes  my  man," 
said  Tybalt,  for  he  saw  Romeo  approaching. 

"  But  I'll  be  hanged,  sir,  if  he  wears  your  Hvery  !" 
said  Mercutio. 

Straight  from  his  marriage  with  Juliet,  his  heart  full 
of  joy,  and  his  spirit  breathing  peace  to  all  mankind,  came 
Romeo.  Even  the  insult  with  which  Tybalt  greeted  him 
did  not  at  such  a  moment  rouse  his  anger.  Tybalt  was 
Juliet's  kinsman  ;  in  his  overflowing  love  for  Juliet,  Romeo 
could  not  quarrel  with  one  who  might  be  dear  to  her. 

"  Romeo,  the  hate  I  bear  thee  can  afford  no  better 
term  than  this — thou  art  a  villaia  !"  said  Tybalt. 

"  Tybalt,"  returned  Romeo  mildly,  "  the  reason  I  have 
for  loving  you  prevents  the  rage  which  should  follow  such 
a  greeting.  I  am  no  villain.  Therefore,  farewell.  I  see 
you  do  not  know  me." 

"  Boy,  this  shall  not  excuse  the  injuries  you  have  done 
me.     Therefore  turn  and  draw." 

"I  do  protest,  I  never  injured  you,  but  love  you  better 
than  you  can  guess,  till  you  shall  know  the  reason  of  my 
love.  And  so,  good  Capulet — which  name  I  speak  as 
dearly  as  my  own — be  satisfied." 

Mercutio  had  listened  in  amazement  to  Romeo's  gentle 
responses  to  Tybalt's  insults,  but  at  this  he  could  contain 
himself  no  further. 

"  O  calm,  dishonourable,  vile  submission  !"  he  cried  in 
wrath,  and  drew  his  sword.  "  Tybalt,  you  rat-catcher^ 
will  you  walk  ?" 

221 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

"  What  would  you  have  with  me  ?" 

"  Good  king  of  cats,  nothing  but  one  of  your  nine  lives. 
Will  you  pluck  out  your  sword  ?  Make  haste,  lest  mine 
be  about  your  ears  before  it  be  out." 

"  I  am  for  you,"  said  Tybalt,  drawing. 

"  Gentle  Mercutio,  put  your  rapier  up,"  entreated  Romeo. 

"  Come,  sir,  begin,"  was  Mercutio's  only  answer. 

"  Draw,  Benvolio,  beat  down  their  weapons,"  cried 
Romeo  imploringly.  "  Gentlemen,  for  shame,  forbear 
this  outrage  !  Tybalt,  Mercutio,  the  Prince  has  expressly 
forbidden  fighting  in  the  streets  of  Verona.  Hold, 
Tybalt  !     Good  Mercutio  !" 

In  his  eagerness  to  stay  the  combatants,  Romeo  tried 
to  strike  up  their  weapons,  and  Tybalt,  seizing  his  ad- 
vantage, stabbed  Mercutio  under  Romeo's  arm.  Then, 
seeing  him  reel  back  into  Benvolio's  arms,  Tybalt  fled 
with  his  followers. 

"  I  am  hurt,"  said  Mercutio.  "  A  plague  on  both  your 
houses  !  I  am  done  for.  ...  Is  he  gone,  and  hath 
nothing  ?" 

"  What,  are  you  hurt  ?"  said  Benvolio. 

"  Ay,  ay,  a  scratch — a  scratch,"  said  Mercutio,  with 
an  attempt  at  his  old  light  manner.  "  Marry,  it's  enough. 
Where  is  my  page  ?     Go,  villain,  fetch  a  surgeon." 

"  Courage,  man,  the  hurt  cannot  be  much,"  said  Romeo 
tenderly. 

"  No,  it's  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide  as  a  church 
door,"  said  Mercutio,  in  his  usual  jesting  style,  though 
he  could  only  gasp  out  the  words  with  difficulty  ;  "  but 
it's  enough  ;  it  will  serve.  Ask  for  me  to-morrow,  and 
you   shall   find   me   a   grave   man.       I    am    peppered,    I 

^2:? 


Merciitio 

warrant,  for  this  world.  ...  A  plague  on  both  your 
.louses  !  .  .  .  Why  the  devil  did  you  come  between  us  r 
I  was  hurt  under  your  arm." 

"  I  thought  all  for  the  best,"  said  poor  Romeo. 

"  Help  me  into  some  house,  Benvolio,  or  I  shall  faint,' 
gasped  Mercutio.  ...  '*  A  plague  on  both  your  houses  ! 
.  .  .  they  have  made  worm's  meat  of  me  .  .  .  your 
houses.  .  .  ." 

Benvolio  supported  Mercutio  away,  but  returned  in  a 
few  minutes  with  the  mournful  tidings  that  the  brave 
and  gallant  spirit  had  taken  flight.  Mercutio,  the  bril- 
liant wit,  the  loyal  friend,  the  light-hearted  comrade,  had 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  dissension  between  the  houses  of 
Montague  and  Capulet.  Jealous  of  his  friend's  honour,  as 
of  his  own,  he  had  risked  all  in  its  defence,  and  he  faced 
death,  as  he  had  done  life,  with  undaunted  bearing  and 
a  smile  on  his  lips. 

Benvolio  had  scarcely  told  the  news  when  back  came 
Tybalt,  and,  furious  at  the  loss  of  his  friend,  Romeo 
hurled  aside  all  thoughts  of  leniency,  and  straightway 
sprang  at  his  murderer.  The  fight  was  brief,  and  Tybalt 
fell.  Romeo  was  hastily  hurried  off  by  Benvolio,  for 
the  whole  town  was  now  in  an  uproar,  and  he  knew  that, 
if  taken,  Romeo  would  probably  be  doomed  to  death. 
Dazed  by  all  the  calamities  which  had  suddenly  fallen 
on  him,  Romeo  let  himself  be  persuaded,  and  departed 
almost  in  a  dream. 

The  Prince  of  Verona  now  arrived,  also  Capulet  and 
Montague,  and  crowds  of  other  citizens.  In  reply  to  the 
Prince's  inquiries,  Benvolio  gave  an  account  of  what  had 
happened,  telling  the  story  in  the  most  favourable  light 

^23 


'     Romeo    and    Juliet 

he  could  for  the  absent  Romeo,  whose  fault,  indeed,  it 
had  no  wise  been.  He  told  how  Tybalt  had  provoked 
him,  and  how  Romeo  had  tried  to  keep  the  peace,  re- 
minding the  quarrelsome  nobleman  of  the  Prince's  dis- 
pleasure ;  also  how  Tybalt  had  slain  Mercutio  when  Romeo 
was  trying  to  stop  the  duel ;  and  how,  after  Mercutio's 
death,  Tybalt  had  come  back  and  fought  with  Romeo. 
Before  Benvolio  could  part  them,  Tybalt  was  slain,  and 
now  Romeo  had  fled. 

The  Capulets  began  to  clamour  for  revenge.  Benvolio, 
they  said,  was  a  kinsman  to  the  Montagues,  and  his  affec- 
tion made  him  speak  falsely  ;  the  matter  was  not  as  he 
described  it.  They  begged  for  justice.  Romeo  had  slain 
Tybalt  ;  Romeo  must  die. 

"  Romeo  slew  him,  he  slew  Mercutio,"  said  the  Prince, 
grieving  for  the  loss  of  his  own  kinsman.  "  Who  owes 
the  price  for  Mercutio's  dear  blood  ?" 

"  Not  Romeo,  Prince  ;  he  was  Mercutio's  friend,"  said 
Montague.  "  His  fault  only  concludes  what  the  law 
should  have  ended — the  life  of  Tybalt." 

"  And  for  that  offence  we  exile  him  immediately," 
pronounced  the  Prince,  determined  by  severe  measures 
to  put  a  stop  to  the  incessant  brawling  that  was  bringing 
sorrow  to  so  many  noble  famihes.  "  I  have  suffered 
because  of  your  hate — my  dear  kinsman  is  slain.  But  I 
will  punish  you  with  so  heavy  a  fine  that  you  shall  all 
repent  my  loss.  I  will  be  deaf  to  pleading  and  excuses  ; 
neither  tears  nor  prayers  shall  soften  this  sentence,  there- 
fore use  none.  Let  Romeo  leave  the  city  at  once  ;  else, 
when  he  is  found,  that  hour  shall  be  his  last.  Mercy  only 
encourages  murder  when  it  pardons  those  who"  kill," 

224 


"  Banished!" 

''  Banished  !" 

When  Juliet  hastened  to  Friar  Laurence's  cell  to  be 
married  to  Romeo,  her  nurse  went  off  in  another  direc- 
tion, to  secure  a  ladder  of  cords,  so  that  the  young  husband 
might  visit  his  wife  that  evening,  and  speak  to  her  with 
less  danger  of  discovery  than  if  she  were  up  in  the  balcony 
and  he  below  in  the  orchard. 

This  nurse  of  Juliet's  was  a  talkative,  easy-tempered 
old  person,  very  fond  of  her  nursling — of  whom  she  had 
had  charge  since  she  was  a  baby — and  good-natured  after 
a  fashion,  but  vulgar-minded,  and  very  selfish  if  anything 
came  to  cross  her  own  convenience.  Juliet  had  coaxed 
her  into  sympathy  about  her  present  affairs,  and  Romeo, 
being  a  very  handsome,  open-handed  young  gentleman, 
the  nurse  for  the  moment  was  on  their  side,  and  consented 
to  act  as  messenger  between  them.  But  her  own  aches 
and  pains  were  at  all  times  more  important  to  the  old 
woman  than  the  concerns  of  anyone  else ;  and  even  when 
returning  from  her  mission  to  settle  the  time  of  the  mar- 
riage, she  was  more  occupied  in  recounting  her  own  ail- 
ments than  in  relieving  the  anxiety  of  her  young  mistress 
to  hear  news  of  Romeo. 

However,  as  long  as  things  went  well,  she  was  willing 
to  be  amiable,  and  the  young  girl  was  at  least  not  left 
entirely  destitute  of  any  confidant.  But  when  trouble 
arose,  the  nurse's  shallow,  selfish  nature  became  apparent, 
and  poor  Juliet  was  soon  to  learn  that  sh^  must  rely  solely 
on  her  own  strength  and  judgment  in  the  sorrows  that 
overwhelmed  her. 

After  the  marriage  Juliet   returned  home,   and  there 

225  p 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

presently  the  nurse  joined  her.  She  carried  the  ladder  ot 
cords  she  had  gone  to  fetch,  but  slie  flung  it  down  with  a 
gesture  of  despair,  and  her  face  was  th    picture  of  woe. 

"  Ay  me  !  What  news  ?  Why  do  you  wring  your 
hands  ?"  exclaimed  Juliet,  a  sudden  chill  of  terror  clouding 
the  sunshine  of  her  joy. 

"  Ah,  well-a-day  !  he's  dead,  he's  dead,  he's  dead  !" 
wailed  the  nurse.  "  We  are  undone,  lady — we  are  un- 
done !    Alack  the  day  !    He's  gone,  he's  killed,  he's  dead  !" 

Juliet  thought,  of  course,  that  the  nurse  referred  to 
Romeo,  especially  when  she  went  on  weeping  and  v^ ailing 
and  saying  that  she  had  seen  him  lying  dead  with  her  own 
eyes.  Juliet's  heart  was  nearly  broken  at  the  dreadful 
news,  when  suddenly  the  stupid  old  woman,  in  her  con- 
fused style  began  to  lament  : 

"  O  Tybalt,  Tybalt,  the  best  friend  I  had  !  O  courteous 
Tybalt !  Honest  gentleman  !  That  ever  I  should  live  to 
see  thee  dead  !" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  poor,  bewildered  Juliet. 
"  Is  Romeo  slaughtered,  and  is  Tybalt  dead  ?  My  dear- 
loved  cousin  and  my  dearer  lord  ?" 

"Tybalt  is  gone,  and  Romeo  banished,"  said  thj  nurse. 
"  Romeo  that  killed  him,  he  is  banished." 

Her  words  were  plain  enough  now.  Juliet  shrank  back 
in  horror. 

"  Did  Romeo's  hand  shed  Tybalt's  blood  ?" 

"  It  did— it  did.     Alas  the  day,  i:  did  !" 

Juliet's  first  impulse  was  to  heap  reproaches  on  her 
newly  made  husband,  who  hid  so  vile  a  nature  under  so 
fair  a  seeming  ;  but  when  the  nurse  chimed  eagerly  in, 
and  said  there  was  no  trust,  no  faith,  no  honesty  in  man, — 

226 


"  Banished  !" 

they  were  all  perjured,  all  dissemblers,  Juliet  immediately 
changed  her  tone,  and  broke  into  an  indignant  defence 
of  Romeo. 

"  Will  you  speak  well  of  him  that  killed  your  cousin  ?" 
asked  the  nurse. 

"  Shall  I  speak  ill  of  him  that  is  my  husband  ?"  cried 
Juliet.  "Ah,  poor  my  lord,  what  tongue  shall  smooth  thy 
name  when  I,  thy  three-hours  wife,  have  wronged  it  ?" 

Worse,  far  worse  to  her,  than  her  cousin's  death  was 
the  terrible  news  that  Romeo  was  banished.  "  Tybalt  is 
dead,  and  Romeo — banished  !"  The  dreadful  words  kept 
ringing  in  her  ears.  "  Romeo  is  banished  !  There  is  no 
end,  no  hmit,  measure,  bound,  in  that  word's  death  ;  no 
words  can  fathom  that  woe,"  she  mourned. 

Juliet  bac  the  nurse  carry  away  the  ladder  of  cords, 
for  it  was  of  no  use  now.  Romeo  was  exiled,  she  would 
never  see  .  .  i  again  ;  death,  and  not  Romeo,  would  be 
her  husband. 

The  old  woman  was  melted  to  pity  at  the  sight  of 
Juliet's  misery. 

"  Go  to  your  room,"  she  said  soothingly.  "  I'll  find 
Romeo  to  comfort  you.  I  know  well  where  he  is.  Hark 
ye,  your  Romeo  will  be  here  at  night.  I'll  go  to  him  ; 
he  is  hidden  in  Friar  Laurence's  cell." 

"  Oh,  find  him !  Give  this  ring  to  m^y  true  knight," 
cried  Juliet,  "  and  bid  him  come  to  take  his  last  farewell." 

Forced  to  find  a  refuge  after  the  death  of  Tybalt, 
Romeo  had  gone  to  the  man  who  had  always  been  a 
friend  to  him,  and  the  good  Friar  Laurence  had  given 
him  shelter  in  his  cell.     He  then  sallied  forth  to  learn 

227  p  2 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

how  matters  were  going,  and  presently  returned  with  the 
news  of  the  doom  that  the  Prince  had  pronounced — 
Romeo  was  banished.  Romeo  was  in  despair  when  he 
heard  the  sentence.  To  him  banishment  seemed  worse 
than  death.  In  vain  the  Friar  tried  to  comfort  him, 
pointing  out  that  the  sentence  was  more  merciful  than 
what  he  had  a  right  to  expect.  Romeo  declared  it  was 
torture,  and  not  mercy.  Heaven  was  here  where  Juliet 
lived ;  and  henceforth  every  cat  and  dog,  and  little  mouse, 
and  unworthy  thing,  might  look  at  her,  but  he  might  not. 
Every  creature  was  free,  but  he  was  banished.  Was 
there  no  poison,  no  sharp  knife,  no  sudden  way  of  death, 
however  mean,  that  might  have  killed  him,  that  he  must 
live  on  in  torture,  with  that  word  "  banished  "  ? 

The  good  Friar  tried  to  reason  with  him,  but  for  the 
moment  Romeo  was  past  all  reason  ;  he  refused  to  listen 
to  an}^  words  of  counsel,  and  flung  himself  down  on  the 
ground  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  grief. 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  knocking  at  the  outside 
door. 

"  Arise ;  someone  is  knocking.  Good  Romeo  hide 
thyself,"  entreated  the  Friar. 

But  Romeo  refused  to  stir.  The  knocking  came  again, 
louder  and  more  imperative. 

"  Hark  how  they  knock  !  .  .  .  Who's  there  ?  .  .  . 
Romeo,  arise  ;  thou  wilt  be  taken.  .  .  .  Stay  awhile.  .  .  . 
Stand  up !  Run  to  my  study.  ...  In  a  minute.  .  .  . 
Heavens  !  what  folly  is  this  ?   .   .   .     I  come — I  come  !" 

The  Friar's  entreaties  to  Romeo  were  mixed  with  broken 
ejaculations  to  the  person  knocking  outside,  but  as  the 
headstrong  young  man  refused  to  move  from  the  spot 

228 


''  Banished  !*' 

where  he  had  flung  himself  down  on  the  floor  of  tlie  cell, 
Friar  Laurence  dared  no  longer  delay  to  open  the  door. 

Happily  the  newcomer  was  only  Juliet's  nurse,  and  no 
dangerous  or  inquisitive  visitor.  Romeo  eagerly  de- 
manded news,  and  then,  in  a  fresh  passion  of  remorse 


Romeo,  arise  ;  thou  wilt  be  taken  ! 


at  the  misery  he  had  brought  on  his  dear  lady,  threatened 
madly  to  kill  himself,  and  drew  his  sword. 

The  Friar  stayed  his  hand,  and  now  began  sternly  to 
rebuke  him  for  his  frantic  behaviour  and  unmanly  lack 
of  all  self-control.  Then  he  pointed  out  that  he  had 
still  many  blessings  left  to  him,  though  he  chose  sullenly 

22Q 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

to  ignore  them.  Juliet  still  lived — he  was  happy  in  that  ; 
the  law  that  might  have  condemned  him  to  death  had 
turned  it  into  exile — he  was  happy  in  that  ;  finally,  the 
Friar  bade  him  go  to  Juliet  as  had  been  arranged,  and 
comfort  her. 

"  But  take  care  not  to  stay  till  the  watch  be  set,"  he 
counselled,  "  foi'  then  you  cannot  pass  to  Mantua,  where 
3^ou  shall  live  till  we  can  find  a  time  to  publish  your 
marriage,  reconcile  your  friends,  beg  pardon  of  the  Prince, 
and  call  you  back,  with  twenty  hundred  thousand  times 
more  joy  than  you  went  forth  in  lamentation." 

Romeo  was  greatly  cheered  by  the  brave  words  of  the 
Friar,  and  the  nurse  hurried  back  to  Juhet  v/ith  the  news 
that  her  husband  would  soon  be  with  her. 


Comfort  and  Counsel 

The  second  parting  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  at  the  balcony 
looking  into  Capulet's  orchard  was  very  different  from 
the  first.  Then,  indeed,  Romeo  had  reluctantly  torn 
himself  away ;  but,  after  all,  they  had  another  happier 
meeting  to  look  forward  to  on  the  morrow.  Now,  all 
was  gloom  and  uncertainty,  and  who  knew  when  they 
would  ever  see  each  other  again  ?  The  lark,  the  herald 
of  the  morning,  that  sang  joyously  high  overhead, — the 
golden  rays  of  dawn  that  pierced  the  eastern  clouds, — 
only  brought  sadness  to  the  hearts  of  the  young  husband 
and  wife,  for  they  told  that  the  fatal  hour  of  parting  had 
come.  Longing  to  keep  Romeo  with  her,  yet  dreading 
the  peril  he  ran  if  he  delayed  too  long,  Juliet  one  moment 
implored  him  to  stay,  and  the  next  urged  him  to  depart. 

230 


Comfort    and    Counsel 

"Oh,  now  be  gone  ;  more  light  and  Hght  it  grows,"  she 
sighed  at  last  ;  and  Romeo  echoed  despairingly  : 

"  More  light  and  light ;  more  dark  and  dark  our  woes  !" 

At  this  moment  the  nurse  came  hastily  to  warn  Juliet 
that  her  mother  was  approaching,  and  now  indeed  Romeo 
must  take  his  last  farewell.  As  Juliet  looked  down  to 
him  from  the  balcony  it  seemed  to  her  that  Romeo's 
face,  in  the  gray  light  of  dawn,  looked  pale  as  one  in  the 
bottom  of  a  tomb,  and  even  his  cheering  words  that  spoke 
of  a  future  meeting  failed  to  bring  comfort  to  her  breaking 
heart. 

But  she  had  no  time  to  brood  over  this  sorrow,  for 
she  was  now  called  to  face  another  and  almost  more 
terrible  trial. 

Lady  Capulet  had  come  to  her  daughter's  room  at  this 
unusual  hour  to  bring  news  of  great  importance.  The 
County  Paris  had  renewed  his  suit  to  Juliet's  father.  All 
was  arranged  ;  the  marriage  was  fixed  to  take  place  in 
three  days'  time,  on  the  following  Thursday.  It  did  not 
occur  to  the  parents  that  Juliet  would  have  any  voice 
in  the  matter  ;  or,  rather,  Tady  Capulet  thought  it  would 
be  joyful  tidings  to  her,  and  would  help  to  console  her 
for  the  death  of  her  cousin  Tybalt.  She  was,  therefore, 
somewhat  astonished  to  find  the  way  in  which  her  news 
was  received.  In  answer  to  her  intelligence  that  early 
next  Thursday  the  gallant,  young,  and  noble  gentleman, 
the  County  Paris,  at  Saint  Peter's  Church,  would  happily 
make  Juliet  a  joyful  bride,  her  daughter  exclaimed  with 
fire  : 

"  Now,  by  Saint  Peter's  Church  and  Peter  too,  he  shall 
not  make  me  there  a  joyful  bride  !" 

231 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

Juliet  went  on  to  say  that  she  would  not  marry  in  this 
haste,  and  when  she  did  marry  it  would  be  Romeo,  their 
enemy,  rather  than  Paris. 

Then  in  came  Capulet,  her  father,  and,  deaf  to  all 
Juliet's  pleadings,  he  swore  in  a  furious  rage  that  she 
should  marry  Paris  ;  and  if  she  did  not,  she  might  beg, 
starve,  die  in  the  streets,  for  he  would  not  own  her  as  a 
daughter. 

Julie't  appealed  to  her  mother,  but  Lady  Capulet  was 
really  angry  with  her,  or  perhaps  she  did  not  dare  to  go 
against  her  husband  ;  at  any  rate,  she  took  his  side  in 
the  matter,  and  harshly  refused  to  listen  to  anything 
Juliet  might  say. 

"  Do  as  thou  wilt,  for  I  have  done  with  thee,"  were  her 
final  cruel  words,  as  she  followed  her  husband  from  the 
room. 

Cut  to  the  heart,  stunned  with  misery,  Juliet  turned 
to  her  last  hope.  Her  old  nurse  was  still  beside  her  ; 
she,  at  least,  knew  that  what  her  parents  demanded  was 
impossible ;  she  knew  that  Juliet  could  not  marry  Paris, 
for  she  was  already  married  to  Romeo.  Perhaps  she  could 
suggest  some  way  of  escape. 

"  Comfort  me,  counsel  me,"  implored  the  distracted 
young  girl.  "  What  say'st  thou  ?  Hast  thou  not  a 
word  of  joy  ?     Some  comfort,  nurse." 

And  this  is  the  comfort  and  counsel  the  old  nurse  gave. 
Romeo  was  banished,  she  said  ;  she  would  wager  any- 
thing he  would  never  dare  to  come  back  to  challenge  her, 
or,  if  he  did,  it  would  have  to  be  by  stealth.  Then,  since 
the  case  stood  as  it  did,  she  thought  the  best  thing  would 
be  for  Juliet  to  marry  the  County  Paris.     Oh,  he  was  a 

232 


Comfort    and    Counsel 

lovely  gentleman  !  Romeo  was  nothing  to  him  !  In- 
deed, she  thought  Juliet  very  happy  in  her  second  match, 
for  it  far  excelled  her  first  ;  or,  if  it  did  not,  her  first  was 
dead,  or  he  might  just  as  well  be  dead  as  living,  when 
banished  from  Juliet. 

So  spoke  the  selfish,  base-minded  old  woman.  Juhet 
looked  at  her  fixedly. 

"  Do  you  speak  this  from  your  heart  ?"  she  asked 
solemnly. 

"  And  from  my  soul  too,"  returned  the  old  woman, 
"  or  evil  befall  them." 

"  Amen  !"  said  Juliet. 

"  What  ?" 

"  Well,  you  have  comforted  me  marvellous  much," 
said  Juliet,  speaking  with  strange  calm.  "Go  in,  and 
tell  my  lady  that,  having  displeased  my  father,  I  have 
gone  to  Friar  Laurence's  cell  to  make  confession  and 
to  be  absolved." 

"  Marry  I  will,  and  this  is  wisely  done,"  said  the  old 
nurse,  pottering  away  to  fulfil  her  errand. 

Then,  for  a  moment,  Juliet's  self-restraint  gave  way. 

"  Oh,  most  vvdcked  fiend  !"  she  cried,  in  just  indignation. 
"  Is  it  more  sin  to  wish  me  to  be  thus  forsworn,  or  to 
dispraise  my  lord  with  that  same  tongue  with  which  she 
has  praised  him  as  above  compare  so  many  thousand 
times  !  Go,  counsellor  ;  thou  and  my  bosom  henceforth 
shall  be  twain.  I  will  go  to  the  Friar  to  ask  his 
remedy.  If  everything  else  fail,  I  have  power  myself 
to  die." 

The  good  Friar  did  not  fail  the  young  girl  in  her  need, 
as  the  old  nurse  had  done.     But  the  way  of  escape  he 

233 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

suggested  was  such  a  terrible  one  that  none  but  the 
bravest  and  most  faithful  heart  could  ever  have  consented 
to  it.  Juliet's  position,  however,  was  so  desperate,  and 
she  was  so  determined  to  be  true  to  Romeo,  that  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  married  Paris;  and  now  she 
declared  she  wars  ready  to  go  down  to  the  g:.tes  of  death 
itself  if  only  she  might  live  a  true  wif :  to  Romeo. 

Seeing  her  resolution,  Friar  Laurence  went  on  to  de- 
scribe his  plan.  The  marriage  was  to  take  place  two 
days  hence,  on  the  Thursday.  On  the  Wednesday  night 
Juliet,  when  she  went  to  bed,  was  to  drink  off  the  contents 
of  a  phial,  which  the  Friar  would  give  her.  This  was  a 
very  strong  sleeping  draught,  which  would  make  her  lie 
exactly  like  dead,  pale  as  ashes,  stiff  and  cold,  for  forty- 
two  hours,  after  which  she  would  awaken  as  if  from  a 
pleasant  sleep.  On  the  Thursday  morning,  when  they 
came  to  rouse  her  for  the  marriage,  they  would  find  her 
apparently  dead,  and  then — according  to  the  custom  of 
the  country — in  her  best  robes,  uncovered  on  the  bier,  she 
would  be  borne  to  the  ancient  vault  of  the  Capulets. 

In  the  meantime,  before  she  awoke,  news  would  be  sent 
to  Romeo  to  tell  him  everything.  He  would  come  back 
to  Verona,  and  he  and  Friar  Laurence  would  watch  beside 
Juliet  in  the  vault  until  3he  awoke,  and  that  very  same 
night  Romeo  should  convey  her  away  to  Mantua. 

This  was  the  desperate  plan  which  the  Friar  suggested, 
and  w^hich  Juliet's  love  for  her  husband  gave  her  strength 
to  accept  and  carry  out.  With  unflinching  courage  she 
seized  the  little  phial,  while  Friar  Laurence  went  imme- 
diately to  despatch  a  speedy  messenger  to  Mantua  with 
letters  to  Romeo. 

234 


Comfort    and    Counsel 

All  through  the  night  before  the  marriage  there  was 
bustle  and  stir  in  the  household  of  the  Capulets.  Great 
preparations  were  being  made  for  the  festivities,  and 
Capulet  himself  was  up  all  night,  urging  forward  the  ser- 
vants, and  hurrying  them  here  and  there  about  their 
different  tasks.  As  the  moments  sped  by,  he  became 
more  and  more  excited,  and  when  the  musicians  arrived 
to  serenade  the  bride  on  her  wedding  morning,  he  shouted 
to  the  nurse  to  go  and  waken  Juliet  at  once,  and  get  her 
dressed. 

"  Hie,  make  haste  !"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  and  chat  with 
Paris.  Make  haste,  make  haste  !  The  bridegroom,  he 
is  come  already  !     Make  haste,  I  say  !" 

So  the  nurse  went  to  Juliet's  chamber.  .  .  . 

How  calm  and  restful  was  everything  here  !  What  a 
contrast  to  the  rush  and  noisy  confusion  outside  the  closed 
door  !  Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness,  not  a  rustle  of 
movement  showed  that  any  living  creature  was  an  inmate 
of  the  room.  Behind  those  drawn  curtains  the  bride  slept 
well. 

But  she  must  rouse  herself  now  ;  the  time  for  slumber 
is  past.  She  must  shake  off  the  heaviness  from  her 
dreaming  eyes  ;  she  must  leave  this  peaceful  haven  of 
her  childhood  ;  her  happy  girlish  days  are  over  and  done 
with.  The  wedding  feast  is  set,  the  guests  are  assembling, 
the  bridegroom  is  waiting.     Wake,  Juliet,  awaken  !  .  .  . 

Shout,  nurse,  wail  for  sorrow,  and  wring  your  hands. 
Call  louder,  the  bride  does  not  hear  you.  Weep,  mother, 
for  the  child  whom  you  turned  from  when  living  ;  mourn, 
father,  for  the  daughter  you  rejected  and  disowned. 

There  in  her  bridal  robes  lies  the  bride  upon  her  bed, 

235 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

pale  as  ashes,  stiff  and  cold.  The  snowy  whiteness  of  her 
wedding  raiment  is  not  more  white  than  her  face  ;  her 
closed  eyes  smile  back  no  greeting  to  the  rising  sun.  The 
little  phial  has  done  its  work.  Here  at  che  door  stands  the 
bridegroom,  but  to  the  mourners  in  that  desolate  chamber 
it  seems  that  a  mightier  than  he  has  stepped  before  him 
and  claimed  the  bride,  and  the  name  of  that  bridegroom 
is  Death. 


The  Palace  of  Dim  Night 

Friar  Laurence  had  done  his  best  for  the  young  lovers, 
and  he  carried  out  his  scheme  with  speed  and  vigilance. 
But  an  unfortunate  accident  prevented  the  letters  he 
wrote  to  Romeo  ever  reaching  their  destination.  The 
friar  to  whom  he  entrusted  them  went  to  find  a  brother 
friar  of  their  order  to  go  with  him.  Tliis  man  was  occu- 
pied in  visiting  the  sick  ;  the  plague  was  then  raging  in 
Verona,  and  the  searchers  of  the  town,  finding  Friar  John 
and  his  companion,  and  suspecting  they  were  both  in  a 
house  where  the  pestilence  was,  sealed  up  the  doors,  and 
refused  to  let  them  forth.  Thus  Friar  John  never  got  to 
Mantua  at  all,  and  he  was  even  unable  to  forward  the 
letter  to  Romeo  or  to  return  it  to  Friar  Laurence,  so 
fearful  was  everyone  of  infection. 

On  his  release,  two  days  later,  he  hurried  back  to  the 
cell  of  Friar  Laurence,  and  the  latter  learnt  with  dismay 
how  his  plan  had  failed.  There  was  now  only  one  thing 
to  be  done  :  he  must  go  to  the  vault  alone,  to  be  there 
when  Juliet  awakened,  for  in  three  hours'  time  the  power 
of  the  sleeping  potion  would  be  exhausted. 

236 


The    Palace    of   Dim    Night 

Though  Friar  Laurence's  message  never  got  to  Romeo, 
other  tidings  of  sadder  import  reached  him.  When 
Romeo  had  started  for  Mantua,  he  left  his  servant, 
Balthasar,  to  follow  him  later  with  all  news.  Balthasar, 
of  course,  like  all  Verona,  had  heard  of  the  tragedy  at 
the  Capulets'  house,  and  never  doubted  of  the  truth  of 
Juliet's  death.  At  the  moment  he  reached  Mantua,  it 
happened  that  Romeo  was  in  the  highest  spirits  ;  an 
unaccustomed  lightness  of  heart  seemed  that  day  to 
have  taken  possession  of  him.  As  he  strolled  through  the 
streets  of  Mantua  just  before  Balthasar's  arrival,  Romeo 
was  musing  happily  over  a  dream  of  good  omen  that  he 
had  had  the  night  before. 

"  My  dream  foretells  some  joyful  news  at  hand,"  he 
thought.  "  I  dreamt  my  lady  came  and  found  me  dead 
— strange  dream  that  gives  a  dead  man  leave  to  think  ! 
— and  breathed  such  life  with  kisses  on  my  lips  that  I 
revived,  and  was  an  emperor.  Ah  me  !  how  sweet  is 
love  itself,  when  but  love's  shadows  are  so  rich  in  joy  !" 

At  that  moment  Balthasar  appeared,  just  as  he  had 
come  off  his  journey.  Romeo's  heart  leapt  up  anew  at 
the  sight  of  him. 

"  News  from  Verona  !"  he  cried.  "  How  now,  Baltha- 
sar ?  Do  you  not  bring  me  letters  from  the  Friar  ? 
How  doth  my  lady  ?  Is  my  father  well  ?  How  fares 
my  Juliet  ?  I  ask  that  again,  for  nothing  can  be  ill  if 
she  be  well." 

Balthasar  bowed  his  head,  and  spoke  sadly  and 
solemnly. 

"  Then  she  is  well,  and  nothing  can  be  ill.  Her  body 
sleeps  in   Capulet's  monument,   and  her  immortal  part 

237 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

with  angels  lives.  I  saw  her  laid  low  in  her  kindred's 
vault,  and  took  post  at  once  to  tell  it  j^ou.  Oh,  pardon 
me  for  bringing  this  ill  news,  since  you  left  it  for  my  office, 
sir." 

Stunned  by  the  blow.  Romeo  made  no  loud  outcry  ; 
those  who  are  stricken  to  the  heart  have  no  power  to 
bewail  their  misery. 

"  Is  it  even  so  ?  Then  I  defy  you,  stars  !"  was  all  he 
said,  when  he  heard  the  fatal  tidings.  The  boyish  turbu- 
lence, the  violent  outpourings  of  grief,  the  noisy  despair 
that  had  followed  his  former  woes  found  no  voice  in  his 
present  calamity.  His  was  the  calmness  of  one  who  knows 
that  for  him  all  hope  is  over.  "  You  know  my  lodging  ; 
get  me  ink  and  paper,"  he  said  to  Balthasar.  "  And  hire 
post-horses.     I  will  hence  to-night." 

"  T  do  beseech  you,  sir,  have  patience,"  said  the  serv- 
ing-man. "  Your  looks  are  wild  and  pale,  and  import 
some  misadventure." 

*'  Tush  !  You  are  deceived,"  said  Romeo.  "  Leave 
me,  and  do  the  thing  I  bid  you  do.  Have  you  no  letters 
to  me  from  the  Friar  ?" 

"  No,  my  good  lord." 

"  No  matter.  Get  you  gone,  and  hire  those  horses.  Til 
be  with  you  directly." 

Romeo's  resolution  was  taken.  Juliet  was  dead. 
Well,  he  would  die  too.  Now  for  the  means.  Then 
Romeo  remembered  that  near  the  very  spot  where  he 
was  standing  dwelt  an  old  apothecary^a  meagre  wretch, 
wasted  with  misery  and  famine,  whose  sordid  little  sliop 
contained  a  few  musty  odds  and  ends  of  rubbisli,  thinly 
scattered  to  make  up  a  show.     Noting  this  penury  when 

238 


The    Palace    of   Dim    Night 

he  had  first  seen  him,  Romeo  had  said  to  himself :  "  Now, 
if  a  man  needed  a  poison  whose  sale  would  be  instant 
duith  in  Mantua,  here  lives  a  caitiff  wretch  who  would  sell 
it  him."  Thai  thought  had  only  been  the  forerunner 
of  his  present  need,  and  now  he  found  that,  won  over 
by  the  handsome  bribe  offered,  the  starvii  g  apothecary 
could  indeea  supply  him  with  a  fatal  drug  of  deadly 
power. 

The  hour  of  awakening  had  not  yet  come,  and  Juliet 
still  slept  peacefully  in  her  strange  abode  of  death. 

To  the  cliiirchyard  at  night  came  the  gallant  County 
Paris,  'o  lay  flower^i  at  the  tomb  of  the  young  bride  who 
had  been  sj  untimely  snatched  away.  His  little  page 
kept  watch  at  a  distance,  while  Paris  laic'  the  flowers  with 
loving  words  at  the  door  of  the  tomb. 

"  Sweet  flower,  with  flowers  thy  bridal  bed  I  strew, — 
O  woe  !  thy  canopy  is  dust  and  stones  ; — 
Which  with  sweet  water  nightly  I  will  dew. 

Or,  wanting  that,  with  tears  distilled  by  moans  ; 
The  obsequies  that  I  for  thee  will  keep 
Nightly  shall  be  to  strew  thy  grave  and  weep."' 

Warned  by  a  whistle  from  the  pag^,  Paris  retired  into 
the  shadow,  as  other  footsteps  were  heard  approaching. 
Romeo,  accompanied  by  Balthasar,  bearing  a  torch  and 
some  tools  for  opening  the  vault,  now  came  near,  and 
Paris  could  hear  the  instructions  Romeo  gave  his  ser- 
vant. 

"  Give  me  the  mattock  and  the  wrenching  iron.  Hold, 
take  this  letter.  Early  in  the  morning  see  you  deliver 
it  to  my  lord  and  father.     Give  me  the  light.     I  charge  you 

239 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

on  your  life,  whatever  you  hear  or  see,  stand  quite  aloof, 
and  do  not  interrupt  me  in  what  I  am  doing.  The  reason 
I  descend  into  this  abode  of  death  is  partly  to  behold  my 
lady's  face,  but  chiefly  to  take  from  her  dead  finger  a 
precious  ring.  Therefore,  hence,  begone  !  But  if  you 
jealously  return  to  pry  into  what  I  further  intend  to  do, 
by  heaven,  I  will  tear  you  joint  from  joint  !" 

"  I  will  begone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you,"  replied 
Balthasar  ;  but,  all  the  same,  he  intended  to  hide  him- 
self somewhere  near,  for  he  feared  the  looks  of  Romeo, 
and  doubted  his  intention. 

When  the  serving-man  had  retired,  Romeo  took  up  the 
tools,  and  began  to  wrench  open  the  door  of  the  tomb. 
But  now  Paris  came  forward  to  interfere. 

"  This  is  that  banished,  haughty  Montague,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  who  murdered  my  love's  cousin,  out  of  grief 
for  whom  it  is  supposed  she  died.  Now  he  has  come  here 
to  do  some  villainous  shame  to  the  dead  bodies.  I  will 
seize  him.  Stop  thy  unhallowed  toil,  vile  Montague  ! 
Can  vengeance  be  purused  further  than  death  ?  Villain, 
I  seize  thee  !  Obey,  and  go  with  me,  for  thou  must 
die." 

"  I  must  indeed,  and  therefore  came  I  hither,"  said 
Romeo.  "  Good,  gentle  youth,  do  not  tempt  a  desperate 
man.  Fly  hence  and  leave  me  ;  think  on  those  who  are 
dead.  I  beseech  thee,  youth,  do  not  put  another  sin 
on  my  head  by  urging  me  to  fury.  Oh,  begone  !  By 
heaven,  I  love  thee  better  than  myself.  wStay  not  ; 
begone  !" 

"  I  defy  all  thy  entreaties,"  cried  Paris  hotly,  "  and 
seize  thee  here  for  a  felon." 

240 


The    Palace    of   Dim    Night 


Oh,  I  am  slain  !" 


"  Wilt  thou  provoke  me  ?  Then  have  at  thee,  boy  !" 
said  Romeo,  compelled  to  draw  in  self-defence. 

They  fought,  and  Paris  was  wounded. 

"  Oh,  I  am  slain  !"  he  moaned.  "  If  thou  be  merciful, 
open  the  tomb,  lay  me  with  Juliet." 

241  Q 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

"  In  faith,  I  will.  Let  me  see  this  face,"  said  Romeo, 
and  he  took  up  the  torch  to  look  at  the  dead  man.  "  Mer- 
cutio's  kinsman,  noble  County  Paris  !  What  was  it  my 
man  said  when  my  troubled  soul  paid  no  heed  to  him  as 
we  rode  hither  ?  I  think  he  told  me  Paris  should  have 
married  Juliet.  Said  he  not  so  ?  Or  did  I  dream  it  so  ? 
Or  am  I  mad,  hearing  him  talk  of  Juliet,  to  think  it  was 
so  ? — Oh,  give  me  thy  hand,  one  writ  with  me  in  sour 
misfortune's  book  !  Pll  bury  thee  in  a  triumphant 
grave." 

Taking  up  the  dead  body  of  the  gallant  youth,  Romeo 
laid  it  gently  inside  the  tomb.  Then  all  other  thoughts 
faded  from  his  mind,  for  there,  uncovered  on  the  bier, 
clad  in  her  wedding-robes,  radiant  in  all  her  beauty,  lay 
the  young  wife  from  whom  he  had  only  parted  a  few 
days  before. 

"  O  my  love  !  my  wife  !"  he  sighed.  "  Death,  that 
hath  sucked  the  honey  of  thy  breath,  hath  had  no  power 
yet  upon  thy  beauty.  .  .  .  Ah,  dear  Juliet !  why  art 
thou  3^et  so  fair  ?  .  .  .  I  will  stay  here  with  thee,  and 
never  from  this  palace  of  dim  night  depart  again.  Oh, 
here  will  I  set  up  my  everlasting  rest,  and  shake  the  yoke 
of  inauspicious  stars  from  this  world-wearied  flesh  ! 
Eyes,  look  your  last  !  Arm.s,  take  your  last  embrace  !  .  .  . 
Here's  to  my  love  !  O  true  apothecary,  thy  drugs 
are  quick  !     Thus  with  a  kiss  I  die." 

At  the  further  end  of  the  churchyard,  Friar  Laurence, 
with  a  lantern,  crowbar,  and  spade,  was  picking  his  way 
through  the  crowded  ranks  of  graves,  when  he  stumbled 
gcross  a  friend.     This  was  Balthasar,  who  told  him  that 

243 


The    Palace    of   Dim    Night 

Romeo  had  gone  to  the  Capulets'  vault,  but  from  fear  of 
his  master,  did  not  dare  accompany  the  Friar  there. 
Dreading  some  fresh  misfortune,  Friar  Laurence  hurried 
onwards.  At  the  entrance  to  the  vault  he  was  horrified 
to  see  fresh  stains  of  blood,  and  on  entering  it  he  found, 
to  his  dismay,  Romeo  lying  there  beside  the  bier  of  Juliet, 
and  Paris  newly  slain.  But  there  was  no  time  to  spare 
for  lament  or  wonder  ;  Juliet  was  awakening. 

"  O  comforting  Friar,  where  is  my  lord  ?"  she  asked, 
opening  her  sweet  eyes,  and  glancing  about  a  little 
fearfully  at  her  dreary  surroundings.  "  I  remember  well 
where  I  should  be,  and  there  I  am.  Where  is  my 
Romeo  ?" 

At  this  moment  a  noise  was  heard  outside.  Paris's 
little  page  had  warned  the  night-watchmen  of  Verona, 
and  they  were  now  approaching.  Friar  Laurence  im- 
plored Juliet  to  leave  the  place  at  once.  A  greater  power 
than  theirs  had  thwarted  their  plans ;  her  husband 
lay  dead  beside  her,  and  Pads,  too,  was  slain.  The  Friar 
said  he  would  place  Juliet  in  safety  among  a  sisterhood 
of  holy  nuns,  only  let  her  come  at  once  ;  he  dared  stay 
no  longer. 

"  Go,  get  thee  hence,  for  I  will  not  go,"  repHed  Juliet 
firmly  ;  and  seeing  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  argue 
with  her,  Friar  Laurence  slipped  away. 

Left  alone,  for  one  brief  terrified  moment  Juliet  glanced 
around  her,  but  when  her  gaze  fell  on  her  dead  husband 
all  doubt  and  hesitation  fled  for  ever. 

"  What's  here  ?  A  cup,  closed  in  my  true  love's 
hand  ?"  she  said,  bending  over  him  tenderly.  "  Poison, 
T  see,  has  been  his  untimely  end.     O  churl  !  drunk  all, 

2.43  9  2 


Romeo    and    Juliet 

and  left  no  friendly  drop  to  help  me  to  follow  thee  ?  I 
will  kiss  thy  lips  ;  haply  some  poison  yet  hangs  on  them." 
She  leant  forward  and  kissed  him,  and  in  the  same  moment 
caught  sight  of  the  dagger  in  Romeo's  belt.  "  Thy  lips 
are  warm." 

"Lead,  boy !  Which  way  ?"  said  the  voice  of  a  watch- 
man outside. 

"Yea,  noise!  Then  Til  be  bri(f,"  said  Juliet,  snatch- 
ing the  dagger.  "  O  happy  dagger,  this  is  thy  sheath  ; 
there  rest  and  let  me  die  !"  And  she  fell  back  dead  on 
Romeo's  body. 

When  the  watchmen,  followed  by  the  Prince  of  Verona 
and  the  parents  of  the  ill-fated  lovers,  entered  the  vault, 
there  v/as  nothing  to  be  done.  AD  was  over  now — the 
joy  and  the  sorrow,  the  hatred  and  the  strife.  Revenge 
was  silenced ;  henceforth  the  voice  of  dissension  was 
mute.  In  the  presence  of  those  unseeing  witnesses  the 
bitter  enemies  were  reconciled. 

In  this  "  palace  of  dim  night,"  this  dark  abode  of  death, 
nothing  was  left  now  but  peace  and  the  abiding  memory 
of  undying  love. 


1^/U' 


"Y^  .,,ftr^ 

_,  _^      _. 

m 

w 

4ii 

&w 

The  Weird  Sisters 

ITCHCRAFT  is  now  a  thing  of  the  past, 
as  far  as  England  is  concerned,  unless 
there  still  lingers  in  some  very  remote 
corners  a  belief  in  the  power  for  evil  of 
some  poor  old  body,  whose  only  claim 
forsuch  distinction  is,  perhaps,  her  lone- 
liness and  ugliness.  But  in  ancient  days,  and  even  into 
the  last  century,  such  a  belief  was  a  very  usual  thing. 
"  Wise  women,"  as  they  were  often  called,  who  pretended 
they  had  the  power  of  foretelling  the  future,  were  by  no 
means  uncommon,  and  even  learned  people  and  those  in 
high  positions  were  not  ashamed  to  consult  them  with 
regard  to  coming  events.  In  Scotland  this  belief  lingered 
much  longer  than  in  England,  and  even  to  this  day,  in 

245 


Macbeth 

remote  parts  of  the  Highlands,  there  are  some  who  claim 
they  have  the  gift  of  "  second  sight  " — that  is,  that  they 
can  see  in  advance  events  that  will  happen  several  years 
hence. 

The  time  when  the  present  story  occurred  was  hundreds 
of  years  ago,  in  the  year  1039,  before  Wilham  the  Con- 
queror had  come  to  Britain,  and  when  England  and  Scot- 
land were  entirely  separate  kingdoms. 

The  throne  of  Scotland  was  then  occupied  by  a  King 
called  Duncan.  The  country  at  all  times  was  much  at 
the  mercy  of  Northern  invaders,  and  just  at  that  period 
it  was  suffering  from  the  inroads  of  the  Norwegian  hosts, 
who,  secretly  aided  by  the  traitor  Thane  of  Cawdor,  had 
obtained  a  footing  in  the  eastern  county  of  Fife.  But 
their  brief  victory  was  changed  to  defeat  by  the  valour 
of  the  Scotch  Generals,  Macbeth  and  Banquo.  Sweyn, 
King  of  Norway,  was  forced  to  sue  for  a  truce,  and  had 
even  to  pay  a  fine  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  obtain 
leave  to  bury  his  men  who  had  fallen  in  the  fight. 

News  was  brought  to  King  Duncan  of  the  victory  that 
had  been  gained  by  the  valour  of  Macbeth,  and,  pronounc- 
ing the  doom  of  instant  d:ath  on  the  traitor  Thane  of 
Cawdor,  he  ordered  that  his  title  should  be  bestowed  as  a 
reward  on  Macbeth. 

It  was  a  wild  night,  on  a  desolate  heath  near  Forres. 
The  setting  sun,  low  down  on  the  horizon,  cast  e,  blood- 
red  glow  over  the  withered  bracken  and  a  group  of  blasted 
fir-trees.  The  thunder  roLed  overhead,  the  \/ind  howled 
in  long  moaning  gusts,  the  lightning  flashed  in  jagged 
streaks.     But  to  the  three  strange  figures  that  approached 

246 


The    Weird    Sisters 

from  different  quarters,  and  met  in  the  centre  of  this 
lonely  heath,  such  wild  weather  was  of  no  import,  or, 
rather,  it  suited  well  with  their  grim  and  sinister  mood. 
Children  of  the  night,  their  deeds  were  those  of  darkness. 
The  wholesome  sunhght  and  the  breath  of  day  made  them 
shrink  and  cower  in  secret  lurking-places,  but  when  mid- 
night veiled  the  sky  they  stole  out  to  their  unholy  revels, 
or  on  the  wings  of  the  tempest  they  rode  forth,  bringing 
death  or  disaster  to  all  who  crossed  their  track. 

"  Where  hast  thou  been,  sister  ?"  asked  the  first  witch. 

And  the  second  replied  :  "  Killing  swine." 

"  Sister,  where  thou  ?"  asked  the  third  witch. 

"  A  sailor's  wife  had  chestnuts  in  her  lap,  and  munched, 
and  munched,  and  munched,"  said  the  first  witch. 
"  '  Give  me,'  quoth  I.  '  Aroint  thee,  witch  !'  the  pam- 
pered creature  cried.  Her  husband's  to  Aleppo  gone, 
master  of  the  Tiger ;  but  in  a  sieve  I'll  thither  sail,  and, 
Hke  a  rat  without  a  tail,  I'll  do,  I'll  do,  and  I'll  do,"  ended 
the  witch  spitefully. 

"  I'll  give  thee  a  wind,"  said  the  second  witch. 

"  Thou  art  kind." 

"  And  I  another,"  said  the  third  witch. 

"  I  myself  have  all  the  other,"  continued  the  first 
witch,  gloating  over  the  revenge  she  intended  to  take  on 
the  husband  of  the  woman  who  had  repulsed  her,  and  she 
continued  in  a  sort  of  chant  : 

"  And  the  very  ports  they  blow, 
All  the  quarters  that  they  know 
In  the  shipman's  card. 
I  will  drain  him  dry  as  hay ; 
Sleep  shall  neither  night  nor  day 

247 


Macbeth 

Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid  ; 
He  shall  live  a  man  forbid  : 
Weary  seven-nights  nine  times  nine 
Shall  he  dwindle,  peak  and  pine  : 
Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 
Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-tost. 
Look  what  I  have." 

"  Show  me,  show  me  !"  cried  the  second  witch  eagerly. 

"  Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 
Wrecked  as  homeward  he  did  come." 

At  this  moment  across  the  heath  came  the  roll  of  a 
drum  and  the  tramp  of  marching  feet. 

"  A  drum,  a  drum  !  Macbeth  doth  come  !"  cried  the 
third  witch. 

Then  the  three  fearsome  creatures,  linking  hands, 
solemnly  performed  a  wild  dance,  waving  their  skinny 
arms  in  strange  gestures,  and  uttering  a  discordant  wail : 

"The  weird  sisters,  hand  in  hand, 
Posters  of  the  sea  and  land. 
Thus  do  go  about,  about ; 
Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine, 
And  thrice  again  to  make  up  mine. 
Peace  !     The  charm's  wound  up." 

Macbeth  and  Banquo,  marching  across  the  heath  on 
their  way  home,  after  the  campaign  with  the  Norwegians, 
were  startled  at  the  sight  of  these  three  uncanny  figures 
barring  their  path. 

"  What  are  these,  so  withered  and  so  wild  in  their 
attire,  that  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  of  earth,  and  yet 
are  on  it  ?"  said  Banquo.  "  Are  you  alive  ?  Or  are  you 
anything  that  man  may  question  ?" 

248 


The    Weird    Sisters 

"  Speak,  if  you  can  ;  what  are  you  ?"  said  Macbeth. 

x\nd  the  three  witches  answered  by  saluting  him,  each 
m  turn  : 

''  All  hail,  Macbeth  !     Hail  to  thee.  Thane  of  Glamis  !" 

'•  All  hail,  Macbeth  !     Hail  to  thee,  Thane  of  Cawdor  !" 

•'  All  hail,  Macbeth  !  Thou  shalt  be  King  here- 
after." 

*'  Good  sir,  why  do  you  start,  and  seem  to  fear  things 
that  do  sound  so  fair  ?"  said  Banquo,  for  Macbeth  stood 
as  if  rapt  in  a  dream,  amazed  at  what  he  heard. 

Then  Banquo  asked  the  witches,  if  mdeed  they  could 
look  into  the  future,  to  say  something  to  him,  who  neither 
begged  nor  feared  their  favours  nor  their  hate. 

The  witches  thereupon  replied  : 

"  Hail  !"     "  Hail  !"     "  Hail  !" 

"  Lesser  than  Macbeth  and  greater  !" 

"  Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier  !'' 

"  Thou  shalt  beget  Kings,  though  thou  be  none.  So 
all  hail,  Macbeth  and  Banquo  !" 

"  Banquo  and  Macbeth,  all  hail  !" 

Macbeth  would  fain  have  questioned  these  mysterious 
creatures  further,  but  not  a  word  more  would  they  speak. 
By  the  death  of  a  relative,  he  was  certainly  Thane  of 
Glamis,  but,  as  far  as  he  knew,  the  Thane  of  Cawdor  lived, 
an  honourable  gentleman,  for  Macbeth  had  not  yet  heard 
of  his  treachery,  and  how  his  title  was  forfeited.  And  to 
be  King  stood  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief,  no  more 
than  to  be  Thane  of  Cawdor.  But  when  Macbeth  again 
charged  the  witches  to  speak,  they  vanished,  seeming 
almost  to  melt  like  bubbles  into  the  misty  twilight  from 
which  they  had  emerged. 

249 


Macbeth 

The  two  victorious  generals  stood  and  looked  at  each' 
other,  mute  for  awhile  with  awe  and  wonder.  They  had 
fought  with  armed  hosts  on  the  field  of  battle,  but  here 
was  a  mystery  which  might  amaze  the  stoutest  heart. 
The  poison  was  already  beginning  to  work.  Deeply 
ambitious  at  heart,  though  lacking  in  resolution  to  cut 
his  way  ruthlessly  to  the  highest  goal,  the  witches'  words 
had  found  a  ready  welcome  in  Macbeth's  secret  desires. 
But  not  yet  could  he  openly  avow  them. 

"  Your  children  shall  be  Kings,"  he  said  to  Banquo  ; 
and  back  came  the  answer  which  perhaps  he  was  longing 
to  hear  : 

"  You  shall  be  King  !" 

"  And  Thane  of  Cawdor,  too,  went  it  not  so  ?"  he  asked, 
with  a  half-assumed  air  of  incredulity. 

"  To  the  self-same  tune  and  words,"  said  Banquo. 

The  mysterious  greeting  of  the  witches  now  received 
strange  confirmation,  for  messengers  arrived  from  King 
Duncan,  bringing  news  that  the  Thane  of  Cawdor  had 
been  condemned  to  death  for  treason,  and  that  his  title 
and  estate  were  conferred  on  Macbeth.  Such  an  instant 
proof  of  the  witches'  powers  of  divination  could  not  fail 
to  fill  Macbeth's  mind  with  strange  imaginings. 

"  Glamis,  and  Thane  of  Cawdor  !"  he  murmured  to 
himself.  "  The  greatest  is  behind."  Then  he  spoke  to 
Banquo  apart  :  "  Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall 
be  Kings,  when  those  that  gave  the  Thane  of  Cawdor  to 
me  promised  no  less  to  them  ?" 

But  Banquo's  nature  was  less  easily  carried  away  than 
Macbeth's.  He  warned  him  that  it  was  dangerous  to 
put  any  trust  in  doers  of  evil  ;  often  to  win  people  to  their 

250 


The    Weird    Sisters 

harm  they  would  tell  truth  in  trifles,  in  order  to  betray 
them  in  matters  of  the  deepest  consequence. 

Macbeth  scarcely  paid  any  attention  to  what  Banquo 
said.  His  thoughts  were  fixed  now  on  one  idea.  The 
witches  had  foretold  truly  that  he  should  be  Thane  of 
Cawdor  when  there  seemed  no  likelihood  of  such  an  event 
taking  place.  Why,  then,  should  they  not  have  spoken 
equal  truth  when  they  foretold  a  higher  honour  ? 

A  dreadful  idea  was  already  beginning  to  take  shape 
in  Macbeth's  mind.  At  first  he  shrank  from  it  in  horror, 
but  again  and  again  it  came  back  with  renewed  force. 
At  last  he  tried  resolutely  to  thrust  it  from  him. 

"  If  chance  will  have  me  King,  why,  chance  may  crown 
me,  without  my  stir,"  he  said  to  himself.  Then,  with  the 
feeling  that  he  would  leave  events  to  work  out  as  fate 
chose,  he  added  :  "  Come  what  come  may,  time  and  the 
hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day." 

But  even  yet  he  could  not  put  the  matter  from  him^, 
and  determine  to  think  no  more  about  it,  as  a  wise  man 
would  have  done.  He  wanted  to  reflect  over  what  had 
passed,  and  discuss  it  again  with  Banquo. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  King,"  he  said  to  Banquo  ;  for  the 
messengers  had  come  to  summon  him  to  Duncan,  in  order 
to  receive  his  thanks  for  the  victory.  "  We  will  think  over 
what  has  chanced,  and  later  on,  having  in  the  meanwhile 
pondered  it,  let  us  speak  our  hearts  freely  to  each  other." 

"  Very  gladly,"  agreed  Banquo. 

"  Till  then,  enough,"  said  Macbeth.  "  Come,  friends  ;" 
and  away  he  went  with  Banquo  and  the  other  lords  to 
receive  his  new  honours  from  the  King's  hands. 


251 


Macbeth 


At  the  Castle  of  ]\Iacbeth 

King  Duncan  received  Macbeth  and  Banqiio  most 
graciously,  and  at  the  same  time  as  he  conferred  the 
new  dignity  on  ^lacbeth  he  took  the  opportunity  of 
announcing  that  his  own  eldest  son,  Malcolm,  should  suc- 
ceed himself  as  King  of  Scotland,  and  should  be  named 
hereafter  Prince  of  Cumberland.  In  those  days  of  strife 
and  bloodshed  it  was  by  no  means  an  assured  fact  that 
the  crown  should  descend  peaceably  from  father  to  son. 
\Mien  the  rightful  heir  was  young  or  feeble,  some  more 
powerful  relative  often  stepped  forward  and  seized  the 
sceptre  for  himself.  ]\Iacbeth's  wife  was  a  near  kins- 
woman of  the  King — according  to  some  of  the  old  chroni- 
clers, she  had  even  a  better  claim  to  the  throne  than 
Duncan  himself.  Macbeth  may  have  been  hoping  that 
after  the  King's  death,  if  it  came  about  by  natural  means, 
the  cro\\Ti  might  pass  to  himself.  But  this  public  procla- 
mation of  the  young  Prince  as  the  heir  was  an  obstacle  in 
his  path  which  would  prove  a  stumbling-block  to  his  ambi- 
tion, unless  he  overleaped  it.  Once  more,  stronger  than 
ever,  rose  the  evil  suggestion  in  his  mind.  He  knew  well 
the  dark  deed  to  which  it  was  leading,  but  he  was  already 
almost  determined  to  go  through  with  it,  cost  what  it 
might. 

Macbeth's  character  was  well  understood  by  his  wife. 
He  wished  to  be  great,  was  not  without  ambition,  but 
his  nature  was  not  yet  sufficiently  hardened  to  snatch 
what  he  wanted  by  the  shortest  way.  The  great  things 
he  wanted  he  would  have  been  glad  to  get  by  rightful 
means  ;  he  did  not  wish  to  play  falsely,  but  he  was  quite 

25^ 


At    the    Castle    of    Macbeth 

corAent  to  win  wrongly.  Accustomed  to  rely  on  the  stern 
.judgment  of  his  wife,  he  now  wrote  to  her  a  full  account 
of  the  meeting  with  the  witches,  and  left  the  matter  to  her 
firmer  will  to  puzzle  out. 

If  there  were  any  hesitation  in  Macbeth's  mind,  there 
was  none  at  all  in  Lady  Macbeth's.  Her  husband  was 
already  Thane  of  Glamis  and  Thane  of  Cawdor ;  well,  he 
should  reach  the  highest  honour  prophesied.  So  re- 
solved was  she  on  this  point,  and  so  swift  was  her  mind  to 
plot  evil,  that  when  a  messenger  arrived  to  say  that  King 
Duncan  was  then  on  his  way  to  the  castle,  and  would  be 
there  that  night,  she  almost  betrayed  the  treason  in  her 
heart  by  the  startled  exclamation,  "  Thou  art  mad  to  say 
it  !"  It  seemed  as  though  fate  itself  were  delivering  the 
unsuspecting  victim  straight  into  her  hands. 

"  The  raven  himself  is  hoarse  that  croaks  the  fatal 
entrance  of  Duncan  under  my  battlements,"  she  muttered 
to  herself  ;  and  with  terrible  decision  she  began  to  stifle 
all  thoughts  of  womanly  weakness  or  pity,  and  to  nerve 
herself  with  unflinching  cruelty  for  the  deed  that  lay  before 
her. 

A  few  minutes  in  advance  of  the  King  came  Macbeth, 
and  was  received  with  the  warmest  greeting  from  his 
wife. 

"  My  dearest  love,"  he  said,  "  Duncan  comes  here  to- 
night." 

"  And  when  goes  hence  ?"  asked  Lady  Macbeth,  in  a 
voice  of  dreadful  import. 

"  To-morrow — as  he  purposes,"  faltered  Macbeth, 
avoiding  his  wife's  direct  gaze. 

"  Qh,  never  shall  sun  that  morrow  see  !"   cried  Lady 

253 


Macbeth 

Macbeth.  "  Your  face,  my  Thane,  is  as  a  book,  where 
men  may  read  strange  matters.  To  beguile  the  time\ 
look  like  the  time  ;  bear  welcome  in  your  hand,  your  eye, 
your  tongue  ;  look  like  the  innocent  flower,  but  be  the 
serpent  under  it.  He  who  is  coming  must  be  provided 
for,  and  you  shall  put  this  night's  great  business  into  my 
despatch." 

"  We  will  speak  further,"  said  Macbeth,  still  irresolute. 

"  Only  look  up  clear,"  said  Lady  Macbeth  ;  "  to  alter 
favour  ever  is  to  fear.     Leave  all  the  rest  to  me." 

The  counsel  Lady  Macbeth  gave  her  husband  she  was 
quite  ready  to  carry  out  herself.  King  Duncan  was  wel- 
comed with  smiling  courtesy,  and  the  gentle  old  King  was 
charmed  by  the  grace  and  kind  attention  of  his  hostess. 

The  castle  itself  was  pleasantly  situated  ;  the  air  was 
fresh  and  sweet,  and  so  mild  that  the  guests  of  summer, 
the  temple-haunting  martins,  built  in  every  nook  and 
coign  of  vantage.  In  truth,  everything  around  seemed 
to  breathe  peace  and  innocent  security. 

But  the  hearts  of  the  master  and  mistress  of  this 
castle  were  far  from  the  loyalty  they  paraded  to  their 
royal  guest,  though  the  unbending  will  of  Lady  Macbeth 
was  lacking  to  her  husband.  Torn  with  conflicting 
thoughts,  he  stole  away  from  the  chamber  where  King 
Duncan  was  supping,  in  order  to  ponder  alone  over  the 
problem  whether  or  not  he  should  commit  this  crime. 
There  were  many  reasons  that  cried  out  against  it.  First, 
Macbeth  was  the  kinsman  and  subject  of  Duncan,  both 
strong  reasons  against  the  deed.  Then,  he  was  the  host  of 
Duncan,  and  as  such  should  have  barred  the  door  against 
bis  murderer,  not  borne  the  knife  himself.     Duncan  had 

254 


At    the    Castle    of   Macbeth 

shown  himself  so  meek  in  his  high  office  that  all  his  virtues 
would  plead  in  his  behalf,  and  fill  the  land  with  horror 
and  pity  at  his  fate.  Macbeth  had  no  spur  to  urge  him 
onward  except  his  vaulting  ambition,  which  might  over- 
leap its  aim  and  fail,  after  all. 

Missing  her  husband  from  the  supper-room,  Lady 
Macbeth  followed  him  into  the  deserted  hall,  and  when 
he  said  to  her,  "  We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  busi- 
ness," she  overwhelmed  him  with  the  bitterest  contempt. 
She  taunted  him  with  his  pitiful  lack  of  resolution,  and 
derided  him  for  his  cowardly  want  of  valour — "  Letting 
'  I  dare  not '  wait  upon  '  I  would,'  like  the  poor  cat  in 
the  adage,"  as  she  expressed  it.  When  Macbeth  sug- 
gested that  they  might  fail,  she  laughed  the  idea  to  scorn. 
"  We  fail  !"  she  cried.  "  But  screw  your  courage  to  the 
sticking-place,  and  we'll  not  fail."  Then  she  sketched  out 
the  plan  of  how  they  might  proceed.  When  Duncan  was 
asleep,  she  would  drug  with  wine  the  two  soldiers  who 
kept  watch  at  his  door,  and  what  then  would  prevent  her 
and  her  husband  doing  anything  they  liked  to  the  un- 
guarded King  ?  And,  finally,  what  would  prevent  their 
laying  the  blame  on  the  two  drowsy  officers,  who  would 
thus  bear  the  guilt  of  the  murder  ? 

Fired  with  admiration  for  his  wife's  undaunted  courage, 
Macbeth  made  no  further  demur,  and  the  murder  of  their 
guest,  the  King,  was  agreed  on. 

That  night  was  dark  and  wild,  one  of  the  roughest 
that  had  ever  been  known.  The  moon  went  down  at 
twelve  o'clock,  and  after  that  all  was  black,  not  a  star 
visible.     The  wind  moaned  and  wailed  round  the  turrets 

255 


Macbeth 

of  the  castle,  chimneys  were  blown  down,  strange  screarris 
were  heard,  which  seemed  to  foretell  coming  woe  ;  the 
owl,  the  fatal  bellman  of  death,  shrieked  the  livelong 
night. 

The  inmates  of  the  castle  were  disturbed  and  uneasy  ; 
it  was  late  before  they  sought  their  rooms,  for  there  wa^ 
feasting  and  revelry  because  of  the  King's  arrival  ;  and, 
then,  to  many  of  them,  sleep  was  impossible,  because 
of  the  raging  of  the  storm  outside.  But  of  what  was 
happening  in  their  midst  they  had  no  suspicion. 

At  the  appoiixted  hour,  Macbeth,  trembling  with  terror 
at  his  own  deed,  crept  into  Duncan's  room,  and  killed 
the  King.  He  looked  so  calm  and  peaceful  as  he  la}^ 
there  wrapt  in  slumber  that  sudden  remorse  filled  th.e 
heart  of  the  murderer,  and  he  stood  fixed  in  horror,  gazing 
at  what  he  had  done.  In  a  neighbouring  room  two  of  the 
King's  followers  stirred  and  called  out  in  their  sleep. 
One  laughed,  and  one  c^ '  d  "  Murder  !"  so  that  they  woke 
each  other  ;  and  Macbeth  stood  and  heard  them.  But 
with  a  muttered  prayer  they  turned  again  to  sleep,  and 
presently  Macbeth  recovered  sufficiently  to  creep  back 
to  his  wife  to  tell  her  that  the  deed  was  done. 

But  though  he  had  nerved  himself  to  strike  the  blow, 
all  Macbeth's  courage  again  ebbed  away.  He  shuddered 
with  horror  when  he  looked  at  the  blood  on  his  hands, 
and  it  was  all  his  wife  could  do  to  rouse  him  from  the  sort 
of  stupor  that  seemed  to  have  seized  him. 

"  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought  of  in  this  way  ;  it 
will  make  us  mad,"  she  said,  when  Macbeth  was  telling 
her  what  had  happened  in  the  chamber  of  the  King. 

"  Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  '  Sleep  no  more  I'  " 

^56 


'  Jiifirm  of  purpose  !     Give  me  the  daggers." 


At    the    Castle    of   Macbeth 

continued  Macbeth,  still  in  the  same  dazed  fashion  : 
"  '  Macbeth  doth  murder  sleep  ' — the  innocent  sleep, 
balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature's  second  course,  chief 
nourisher  in  life's  feast " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  interrupted  his  wife. 

"  Still  it  cried  '  Sleep  no  more  !'  to  all  the  house  ; 
'  Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
shall  sleep  no  more,  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more.'  " 

"  Who  was  it  that  thus  cried  ?"  said  Lady  Macbeth 
impatiently.  "Why,  worthy  Thane,  you  weaken  your 
strength  by  thinking  so  foolishly  of  things.  Go,  get 
some  water,  and  wash  this  witness  from  your  hands, 
Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place  ?  They 
must  lie  there. — And  smear  the  sleepy  grooms  with 
blood." 

"  I'll  go  no  more,"  said  Macbeth.  "  I  am  afraid  to 
think  what  I  have  done  ;  look  on  it  again  I  dare 
not." 

"  Infirm  of  purpose  !  Give  me  the  daggers  !"  cried  Lady 
Macbeth  contemptuously.  "  The  sleeping  and  the  dead 
'  are  but  as  pictures ;  'tis  the  eye  of  childhood  that  fears 
a  painted  devil."  And,  seizing  the  daggers  from  her 
husband's  nerveless  grasp,  she  carried  them  back  into 
King  Duncan's  room,  and  placed  them  in  the  hands  of 
the  drowsy  attendants,  to  make  it  appear  as  if  it  were 
they  who  had  murdered  the  King. 

Before  Lady  Macbeth  could  rejoin  her  husband,  there 
came  a  knocking  at  the  outer  gate,  and  she  hurried  him 
away  to  put  on  night  apparel,  in  order  to  divert  suspicion 
from  themselves  if  they  were  summoned. 

The  new-comer  was  a  Scotch  lord  called  Macdufi,  whom 

259  R  2 


Macbeth 

the  King  had  appointed  to  call  on  him  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. He  was  admitted  into  Duncan's  room,  when,  of 
course,  the  crime  was  at  once  discovered.  All  was  now 
horror  and  confusion.  Macbeth  feigned  as  much  dismay  as 
everyone  else  showed.  The  whole  castle  was  aroused  ;  the 
alarum  bell  pealed  out.  Macduff  shouted  for  Banquo,  and 
for  the  two  young  Princes,  Malcolm  and  Donalbain.  Lady 
Macbeth  came  running  in,  as  if  just  disturbed  from  sleep. 

Fearing  what  the  two  grooms  might  say  when  they  re- 
covered from  their  drugged  sleep,  ^Macbeth  took  the  oppor- 
tunity in  the  uproar  to  slay  them  both,  pretending  that  he 
was  carried  away  by  the  fury  of  the  moment  at  seeing  the 
evidence  of  their  villainy,  the  daggers  in  their  hands. 

But  the  suspicions  of  the  two  young  Princes  were 
aroused  ;  they  dreaded  that  the  treachery  begun  was  not 
yet  ended,  and  they  felt  no  safety  in  their  present  abode. 
So  when  Macbeth  summoned  a  meeting  in  the  hall  of 
the  castle  to  decide  what  was  to  be  the  future  course 
of  action,  they  secretly  stole  away,  for  better  security 
resolving  to  separate,  Malcolm,  the  elder  son,  going  to 
England,  and  Donalbain,  the  younger,  to  Ireland. 


The  Guest  at  the  Banquet 

Macbeth  had  all  his  promised  honours  now — King, 
Cawdor,  Glamis  —  everything  that  the  weird  women 
had  prophesied.  But  IMacbeth  was  not  satisfied.  There 
was  one  danger  ever  present  in  his  path.  Banquo, 
his  ancient  comrade  in  arms,  distrusted  Macbeth  ;  he 
suspected  him  of  playing  most  foully  to  win  his  present 
high   honours.     jMacbeth,   for  his   part,   feared   Banquo, 

260 


The    Guest    at    the    Banquet 

because  of  his  noble  nature,  valour,  and  wisdom  in  judg- 
ment. Outwardly  he  treated  him  with  flattering  civility, 
but  inwardly  he  was  resolved  to  rid  himself  of  this  dan- 
gerous companion.  It  was  nothing  to  be  King  unless 
he  could  reign  in  safety.  Moreover,  when  the  weird 
sisters  gave  the  name  of  King  to  Macbeth,  they  had, 
prophet-hke,  hailed  Banquo  father  to  a  line  of  Kings. 
They  placed  a  fruitless  crown  on  Macbeth's  head,  and  a 
barren  sceptre  in  his  grip,  if  no  son  of  his  succeeded. 
If  this  were  so,  it  was  for  Banquo's  children  he  had  defiled 
his  mind  and  murdered  the  good  King  Duncan — only 
for  them  !  Macbeth  resolved  to  go  a  step  further  in 
the  path  of  crime,  and  to  kill  both  Banquo  and  his  young 
son  Fleance. 

There  was  to  be  a  great  feast  one  night  at  the  palace. 
Banquo  was  especially  invited  to  be  present,  both  by 
Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  and  he  promised  to  be  back 
in  time  for  the  banquet,  though  he  had  to  ride  out  that 
afternoon  on  a  matter  of  business.  Macbeth  inquired  if 
he  had  to  ride  far,  and  Banquo  answered  that  it  would 
take  all  the  time  between  then  and  supper — possibly  he 
might  even  have  to  borrow  an  hour  or  two  from  the 
darkness,  unless  his  horse  went  very  well. 

"  Fail  not  our  feast,"  said  Macbeth. 

"  My  lord,  I  will  not,"  said  Banquo. 

"  We  hear  our  cruel  cousins  are  bestowed  in  England 
and  Ireland,  not  confessing  their  murder  of  their  father," 
continued  Macbeth,  who  now  pretended  to  believe  that 
King  Duncan's  own  sons  had  killed  him.  "  But  more  of 
that  to-morrow.  Hie  you  to  horse  !  Adieu  till  you  return 
at  night." 

261 


Macbeth 

Then,  in  a  voice  of  feigned  carelessness,  he  asked 
Banquo  if  Fleance  were  going  with  him  that  afternoon. 

Banquo  rephed  that  he  was,  and  that  they  ought  to 
start  at  once,  and  with  a  few  final  words  of  civil  farewell 
Macbeth  at  last  let  him  depart. 

Directly  he  had  gone,  Macbeth  gave  an  order  to  an 
attendant,  and  two  men  of  grim  and  sinister  aspect  were 
secretly  ushered  into  his  presence.  These  were  two 
murderers  whom  he  had  hired  to  assassinate  Banquo. 
When  he  had  got  their  consent  to  the  cruel  deed,  Macbeth 
told  them  that  within  the  next  hour  he  would  instruct 
them  where  to  plant  themselves,  and  let  them  know  the 
exact  hour,  for  the  deed  must  be  done  that  night,  and 
at  some  distance  from  the  palace.  He  also  gave  them 
strict  injunctions  that  the  work  was  to  be  done  thoroughly, 
and  that  the  young  boy  Fleance  was  to  be  slain  with  his 
father,  for  his  absence  was  just  as  material  to  Macbeth 
as  was  Banquo's. 

The  murderers  promised  to  obey  his  directions,  and 
he  dismissed  them. 

If  Macbeth  were  troubled  in  mind  and  ill  at  ease,  his 
wife  was  no  happier.  She  had  reached  the  height  of  her 
ambition :  her  husband  was  King  of  Scotland.  But  the 
royal  crown  that  glittered  on  her  brow  brought  no  charm 
with  it  to  soothe  the  restless  trouble  at  her  heart. 

"  Nought's  had,  aH'c  spent, 
When  our  desire  is  got  without  content  ; 
'Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy. 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy." 

That  was  the  secret  of  their  misery  ;  Macbeth  and 
Lady  Macbeth  had  got  their  heart's  desire,  and  in  the 

^62 


The    Guest    at    the    Banquet 

unworthy  getting  of  it  they  found  it  brought  them  no 
content  or  peace  of  mind.  Sick  at  heart,  weary,  dis- 
satisfied, it  would  have  been  hard  to  find  a  sadder  pair 
that  day  in  Scotland  than  the  King  and  Queen  in  their 
royal  robes,  on  the  eve  of  their  grand  state  banquet. 

But  true  to  her  old  undaunted  spirit,  even  in  the  midst 
of  her  own  depression,  Lady  Macbeth  tried  to  rouse  her 
husband  from  his  despondent  gloom. 

"  How  now,  my  lord  ?"  she  said.  "  Why  do  you  keep 
alone,  making  companions  of  sorriest  fancies  ?  Things 
without  all  remedy  should  be  without  regard  ;  what's 
done  is  done." 

"  We  have  but  scotched  the  snake,  not  killed  it," 
returned  Macbeth,  whose  mind  was  always  brooding 
on  the  possible  dangers  ahead.  All  day  he  was  thinking 
over  the  past,  or  plotting  fresh  wickedness  to  secure  his 
own  safety,  and  by  night  he  was  haunted  by  the  most 
terrible  dreams.  In  this  constant  state  of  unrest  he 
could  even  think  with  envy  of  the  quiet  repose  of  the  man 
he  had  killed.  "  Better  be  with  the  dead,  whom  we  to 
gain  our  peace  have  sent  to  peace,  than  to  live  on  in  the 
restless  torture  of  the  mind.  Duncan  is  in  his  grave  ; 
after  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well.  Treason  has  done 
its  worst  ;  nor  steel,  nor  poison,  malice  domestic,  foreign 
levy — nothing  can  touch  him  further." 

"  Come,  my  gentle  lord,"  said  Lady  Macbeth,  "  smooth 
your  rugged  looks  ;  be  bright  and  jovial  among  your 
guests  to-night." 

"  So  I  shall,  love,  and  so  I  pray  be  you,"  said  Macbeth. 
"  Oh,  my  mind  is  full  of  scorpions,  dear  wife  !  You  know 
that  Banquo  and  his  son  Fleance  live." 

263 


Macbeth 

''  But  they  will  not  live  for  ever,"  said  Lady  Macbeth. 

"  There's  comfort  yet  ;  they  can  be  assailed,"  said 
Macbeth  ;  and  then,  in  dark,  mysterious  words,  he  gave 
his  wife  to  understand  that  a  deed  of  dreadful  note  was 
to  be  done  that  night,  though  he  refused  to  tell  her  more 
precisely  what  it  was.  "  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge, 
dearest  chuck,  till  thou  applaud  the  deed,"  he  ended. 
"  Thou  marvellest  at  my  words,  but  hold  thee  still :  things 
bad  begun  make  themselves  strong  by  evil." 

In  the  great  hall  of  the  palace  the  banquet  was  spread. 
The  King  and  Queen  entered,  with  the  Thanes  of  Lennox 
and  Ross  and  many  other  noblemen  of  Scotland.  Mac- 
beth bade  them  be  seated,  and  gave  to  one  and  all  a 
hearty  welcome.  As  the  guests  took  their  places  at 
table,  the  arras  hanging  over  a  side-doorway  was  pushed 
apart,  and  a  grim  face  peered  in.  Leaving  the  stool  (for 
there  were  no  chairs  in  those  days)  which  he  was  about  to 
occupy  at  the  side  of  the  table,  in  the  midst  of  the  guests, 
Macbeth  went  to  speak  to  the  intruder.  It  was  one  of 
the  hired  assassins,  and  he  brought  the  news  that  Banquo 
was  safely  slain. 

Macbeth  was  greatly  pleased  to  hear  this,  but  in  another 
moment  all  his  fear  and  discontent  rushed  back,  for  the 
young  boy  Fleance  had  escaped.  The  child  of  Banquo 
that  was  to  be  King  hereafter  !  But  Macbeth  tried  to 
console  himself  with  the  thought  that,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "  the  grown  serpent  "  was  disposed  of,  and  for  the 
present,  at  least,  the  young  snake  had  no  teeth  to  bite. 

Macbeth  stood  so  wrapt  in  gloomy  musing  that  Lady 
Macbeth  was  forced  to  recall  him  to  a  sense  of  his  duties 

264 


The    Guest    at    the    Banquet 

as  host.  Poor  lady,  she  had  a  hard  task  that  night. 
Not  only  had  she  to  conceal  her  own  unhappiness,  but 
she  had  to  support  the  flagging  spirits  of  her  husband, 
and  try  to  screen  his  strange  behaviour,  while  she  scat- 
tered smiles  and  flattering  words  in  all  directions.  Mac- 
beth roused  himself  by  fits  and  starts,  but  his  gaiety  was 
forced,  and  his  wife  dreaded  that  every  moment  he  would 
betray  himself.  However,  at  Lady  Macbeth's  rebuke,  he 
tried  to  shake  off  his  gloom,  and,  approaching  the  table, 
he  made  an  effort  to  speak  cheerfully  to  the  guests. 

"  May  it  please  your  highness  sit,"  said  the  Thane  of 
Lennox. 

The  seat  which  Macbeth  had  been  about  to  occupy 
when  he  went  to  speak  to  the  murderer  had  remained 
empty,  but  now,  unnoticed  by  all  the  other  guests,  a 
figure  glided  in  and  took  possession  of  it. 

If  only  Banquo  were  present,  Macbeth  went  on  to 
say,  their  honour  would  be  complete,  and  he  hoped  it 
was  his  own  fault,  and  no  mischance,  that  had  kept  him 
a  vay. 

The  Thane  of  Ross  replied  that  Banquo  deserved  blame 
for  not  keeping  his  promise,  and  again  asked  Macbeth  to 
favour  them  with  his  company. 

"  The  table's  full,"  said  Macbeth. 

"  Here  is  a  place  reserved,  sir,"  said  Lennox. 

"  Where  ?" 

"  Here,  my  good  lord,"  said  Lennox,  pointing  to  the 
seat  Macbeth  had  first  chosen.  "  What  is  it  that  moves 
your  Highness  ?"  he  added  in  alarm,  for  Macbeth  stood 
gazing  in  horror  at  what  seemed  to  the  others  nothing 
but  an  empty  stool. 

265 


Macbeth 

Well  might  the  guilty  King  tremble  and  grow  pale,  foi 
in  the  place  that  seemed  vacant  to  everyone  else  he  saw 
sitting  the  biood-stain^d  figure  of  the  murdered  Banquo. 

"  Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it  ;  never  shake  thy  gor}^ 
locks  at  me  !"  he  cried,  recoiling  in  horror. 

"Gentlemen,  rise;  his  Highness  is  not  well,"  said  the 
Thane  of  Ross. 

But  with  eager  words  Lady  Macbeth  tried  to  calm  the 
startled  guests,  assuring  them  that  it  was  only  a  momen- 
tary fit  of  illness,  such  as  Macbeth  had  been  accustomed 
to  from  his  youth.  "  Eat,  and  regard  him  not,"  she 
implored  them,  and  then,  in  a  stern  undertone,  she  tried 
to  rouse  her  husband  from  his  fit  of  dazed  terror.  But 
Macbeth  was  heedless  of  her  entreaties.  With  starting 
eyes  he  watched  the  ghastly  figure  which  his  guilty  brain 
alone  could  see,  and  it  was  only  when  the  vision  melted 
away  that  he  recovered  from  the  sort  of  stupor  into  which 
he  had  fallen.  Then,  for  a  brief  moment,  he  spoke  cheer- 
fully, and,  calling  for  wine,  he  drank  to  the  health  of  all 
present 

"  And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss,"  he 
added  boldly.  "  Would  he  were  here  !  To  all,  and  him, 
we  drink  !" 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered,  when  once  more  the 
vision  of  the  murdered  man  rose  before  Macbeth.  With 
a  scream  of  terror  he  again  recoiled,  pouring  forth  a  torrent 
of  entreaties  and  defiance.  Lady  Macbeth  once  more 
tried  to  s  nooth  matters  over,  but  her  husband's  frenzied 
ravings  could  not  be  so  lightly  covered,  and,  dreading  the 
suspicions  that  his  wild  words  must  give  rise  to,  she  hastily 
dismissed  the  guests  on  the  plea  of  his  sudden  illness. 

-^66 


The    Guest    at    the    Banquet 

When  everyone  had  gone,  and  the  husband  and  wife 
were  left  alone,  she  was  too  worn  out  and  unhappy  to 
utter  any  further  reproaches  or  questions.  Haggard  and 
miserable,  the  guilty  pair  stood  there  in  the  deserted  hall, 
amid  the  broken  fragmc  ito  of  the  disordered  feast  and 
the  dying  torches  that  flickered  in  the  first  gray  twilight 
of  dawn.  Ashes  of  splendour,  loneliness,  despair — it 
seemed  like  the  emblem  of  their  own  ruin^  d  lives. 

Macbeth  was  quiet  enough  now  ;  he  seemed  possessed 
with  a  sort  of  sullen  desperation.  He  had  waded  so  deep 
in  blood,  it  would  be  as  tedious  to  go  back  as  to  go  forward, 
and  he  determi.ied  that  any  cause  that  hindered  his  own 
good  should  be  ruthlessly  swept  aside.  It  was  he,  not 
La  y  Macbeth,  who  was  the  leader  now.  Banquo's  murder 
he  had  arranged  alone,  and  he  asked  no  counsel  from  his 
wife  about  a  fresh  deed  of  iniquity  he  v/as  already  planning. 

But  in  his  guilty  superstition  he  resolved  to  go  early  the 
next  day  to  seek  the  weird  sisters,  to  learn  from  them,  if 
possible,  what  secrete  fate  still  held  in  store. 


The  Witches'  Cavern 

Macbeth  had  gained  his  throne  by  treachery,  and  he  had 
no  confidence  in  the  loyalty  of  his  subjects.  He  feared 
lest  they  should  plot  together  to  bring  back  the  sons  of 
Duncan,  and  he  had  secret  spies  in  the  households  of 
all  the  great  nobles.  The  one  he  feared  most,  next  to 
Banquo,  was  Macduff,  Thane  of  Fife,  and  when  the  latter 
refused  to  obey  the  tyrant's  bidding  to  attend  the  great 
feast,  Macbeth  knew  that  he  was  Hkely  to  prove  a  dan- 

267 


Macbeth 

gerous  enemy,  and  resolved  to  get  rid  of  him  without 
delay.  But  before  he  could  lay  hands  on  him,  Macduff 
fled  the  country,  leaving  his  wife  and  children  in  his 
castle  in  Fife,  and  going  himself  to  the  Court  of  the  English 
King  to  beg  his  help  in  placing  Malcolm  on  the  throne. 

It  was  the  day  after  the  banquet  at  Macbeth's  palace. 
In  a  gloomy  cavern,  far  removed  from  the  haunts  of 
men,  the  three  witches  were  busy  brewing  a  hideous 
compound  for  some  dark  and  evil  purpose.  In  the  middle 
of  the  cavern  was  a  boihng  cauldron,  and  as  the  witches 
circled  round  it  in  a  grotesque  dance,  each  in  turn  flung 
in  some  horrible  ingredient.  The  flames  crackled,  clouds 
of  hissing  steam  arose  from  the  cauldron,  and  as  they 
danced  the  witches  croaked  a  discordant  chant : 

"  Double,  double,  toil  and  trouble  ; 
Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble." 

The  charm  was  just  completed  to  their  satisfaction,  when 
there  came  a  knocking  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern. 
The  second  witch  looked  up  with  a  cunning  gleam  in  her 
sunken  eyes. 

"  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 
Something  wicked  this  way  comes. 
Open,  locks, 
Whoever  knocks  !" 

The  door  swung  open  by  itself,  and  Macbeth  entered. 
In  spite  of  his  curiosity,  he  stood  almost  appalled  at  the 
weird  scene  before  him.  The  darkness  of  the  cavern  was 
fitfully  lighted  by  the  leaping  flames  of  the  fire,  and  the 
evil  faces  that  peered  back  at  him  from  the  shadowy 
gloom  might  well  bring  discomfort  to  a  guilty  soul 

268 


The    Witches'    Cavern 

'^  How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  midnight  hags  ? 
What  is  it  you  do  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  A  deed  without  a  name,"  answered  the  witches  in 
chorus. 

"  I  conjure  you,  by  that  which  you  profess,  however 
you  come  to  know  it,  answer  me  to  what  I  ask  you." 

"Speak!"  "Demand!"  "We'H  answer,"  said  the 
witches.  "  Say  if  you  would  rather  hear  it  from  our 
mouths  or  from  our  masters  ?" 

"  Call  them  ;  let  me  see  them." 

The  first  witch  flung  some  additional  horrible  charms 
into  the  cauldron,  and  then  the  three  chanted  together  : 

"  Come,  high  or  low  ; 
Thyself  and  office  deftly  show  !" 

There  was  a  flash  of  light,  a  roll  of  thunder,  and  in 
the  midst  of  a  cloud  of  blue  steam  there  rose  from  the 
cauldron  the  Apparition  of  an  armed  Head. 

"  Tell  me,  thou  unknown  power "  began  Macbeth. 

"  He  knows  thy  thought,"  said  the  first  witch  ;  "  hear 
his  speech,  but  say  thou  nought." 

"Macbeth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  beware  Macduff ; 
Beware  the  Thane  of  Fife  !     Dismiss  me.     Enough." 

"  Whate'er  thou  art,  for  thy  good  caution,  thanks," 
said  Macbeth,  as  the  Apparition  sank  from  view.  "  Thou 
hast  spoken  my  fear  aright  ;  but  one  word  more " 

"  He  will  not  be  commanded,"  said  the  witch.  "  Here 
is  another,  more  potent  than  the  first." 

There  was  another  roll  of  thunder,  and  a  second  Appari- 
tion arose  from  the  cauldron,  a  blood-stained  Child. 

26q 


Macbeth 

''  Macbeth  !  Macbeth  !  Macbeth  !" 
*'  Had  I  three  ears,  I'd  hear  thee." 

"  Be  bloody,  bold,  and  resolute  ;  laugh  to  scorn 
The  power  of  man,  for  none  of  woman  born 
Shall  harm  Macbeth." 

"  Then  hve,  Macduff  ;  what  need  I  fear  of  thee  ?"  cried 
Macbeth.  "  But  yet  I'll  make  assurance  double  sure  ; 
thou  shalt  not  live ;  that  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it 
lies,  and  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder." 

There  was  a  third  roll  of  thunder,  and  a  third  Appari- 
tion rose — a  Child  crowned,  with  a  tree  in  its  hand. 

"  What  is  this  that  rises  hke  the  issue  of  a  King,  and 
wears  upon  his  baby  brow  the  round  of  sovereignty  ?" 

"  Listen,  but  do  not  speak  to  it,"  commanded  the 
witches  ;  and  the  Apparition  spoke  on  : 

"  Be  lion-mettled,  proud  ;  and  take  no  care 
Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  conspirers  are  : 
Macbeth  shall  never  vanquished  be  until 
Great  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 
Shall  come  against  him." 

"  That  will  never  be  !"  cried  Macbeth,  in  delighted 
relief,  as  the  vision  of  the  baby  King  sank  back  into 
the  cauldron.  As  he  truly  said,  who  could  remove  the 
forest,  and  bid  the  trees  unfix  their  earth-bound  roots  ? 
All  the  bodements  were  good.  Fate  seemed  bright  before 
him.  But  there  was  still  one  thing  his  heart  throbbed  to 
know. 

"  Tell  me,  if  your  art  can  tell  so  much,"  he  begged 
the  witches,  "shall  Banquo's  issue  ever  reign  in  this 
kingdom  ?" 

"  Seek  to  know  no  more,"  came  the  solemn  warning. 

270 


The    Witches'    Cavern 

*'  I  will  be  satisfied.  Deny  me  this,  and  an  eternal 
curse  fall  on  you  !  Let  me  know  !  Why  does  that  caul- 
dron sink,  and  what  noise  is  that  ?''  For  there  was  the 
sound  of  trumpets. 

"  Show  !  .  .  .  Show  1  .  .  .  Show  !  .  .  . 
Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart  ; 
Come  like  shadows,  so  depart  ! ' 

Then  in  the  dusk  of  the  cavern  shone  a  strange  luminous 
glow,  and  slowly  in  procession  passed  a  line  of  eight 
Kings  ;  the  last  carried  a  mirror  in  his  hand,  and  was 
followed  by  Banquo's  ghost. 

Horrible  sight  !  Then,  after  all,  the  witches  had  spoken 
truly,  and  it  was  Banquo's  children  who  should  fill  the 
throne  of  Scotland  for  untold  generations.  For  in  the 
mirror  held  by  the  eighth  King  were  reflected  many  more, 
and  some  of  them  carried  twofold  orbs  and  treble 
sceptres. 

"  What,  is  this  so  ?"  demanded  Macbeth,  and  the  first 
witch  answered  : 

"Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so  ;  but  why 
Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly? 
Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprites, 
And  show  the  best  of  our  delights  ; 
I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound, 
While  you  perform  your  antic  round. 
That  this  g^reat  King  may  kindly  say, 
Our  duties  did  his  welcome  pay." 

Then  a  strain  of  weird  music  was  heard,  and  in  a  sort 
of  wild,  mocking  dance  the  witches  vanished,  the  cauldron 
sank  into  the  earth,  and  Macbeth  was  left  standing  alone 
in  the  gloomy  cavern. 

273  S 


Macbeth 

Birnam  Wood 

When  Macbeth  learnt  that  Macduff  had  escaped  from 
his  power  and  fled  to  England,  he  took  a  fiendish  revenge  : 
he  gave  orders  that  his  castle  in  Fife  should  be  surprised 
and  seized,  and  his  wife  and  children  slain.  Macbeth's 
barbarous  commands  were  executed,  and  the  Thane  of 
Fife's  wife,  children,  servants,  and  every  unfortunate  soul 
in  the  castle,  were  ruthlessly  slaughtered. 

Scotland  had  long  been  groaning  under  the  heavy  yoke 
of  the  tyrant,  and  at  this  cruel  deed  it  broke  into  open 
rebellion.  Macduff  returned  from  England,  bringing 
the  young  Prince  Malcolm  with  him,  and  many  noble- 
men flocked  to  their  standard.  Macduff,  burning  with 
revenge  for  the  loss  of  all  his  dear  ones,  swore  that  if  ever 
the  tyrant  came  within  reach  of  his  sword  he  should  never 
escape  alive. 

In  the  troubles  that  now  gathered  thick  and  fast 
around  him,  Macbeth  had  no  longer  the  counsel  of  his 
devoted  wife  to  strengthen  him.  The  punishment  of  her 
evil  deeds  had  fallen  upon  Lady  Macbeth.  Her  stern 
spirit  w'LS  broken,  for  she  was  a  prey  to  all  the  tortures 
of  una/aihng  remorse.  Her  sleep  was  troubled,  and  in 
her  dreams  she  acted  over  and  over  again  the  scene  that 
had  taken  place  on  the  night  of  Duncan's  murder.  The 
doctor  called  in  to  attend  her  could  not  explain  the  cause 
of  the  illness  that  seemed  consuming  her,  but  her  waiting 
gentlewoman  told  him  that  at  night  Lady  Macbeth  would 
rise  in  her  sleep,  and  speak  strange  words  and  act  in  a 
strange  manner.  The  doctor  resolved  to  watch,  himself, 
to  see  what  happened.     For  two  nights  all  was  quiet,  but 

274 


Birnam    Wood 

on  the  third  night,  as  he  was  speaking  to  the  gentlewoman, 
Lady  Macbeth  entered,  clad  in  a  night-mantle,  and  carry- 
ing a  lighted  taper.  Her  eyes  were  open,  but  she  evidently 
saw  nothing  ;  she  was  walking  in  her  sleep.  Setting  down 
the  taper,  she  began  to  rub  her  hands,  as  if  she  were 
washing  them,  speaking  the  while  in  a  low  voice.  From 
her  broken  phrases  it  was  easy  to  guess  the  scene  of  guilt 
that  was  haunting  her  brain.  Mixed  with  words  about 
Duncan's  murder  came  reproaches  to  her  husband  for 
his  lack  of  courage,  and  then  references  to  other  crimes 
— the  murder  of  Banquo,  and  the  death  of  the  Thane  of 
Fife's  wife.  And  all  the  time  Lady  Macbeth  kept  rubbing 
and  rubbing  her  hands  ;  but  it  was  of  no  use — nothing 
would  ever  make  them  clean  again. 

"  Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still  ;  all  the  perfumes 
of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand,"  she  moaned, 
as  if  her  heart  were  breaking. 

"  What  a  sigh  is  there  !"  said  the  doctor.  "  The  heart 
is  sorely  charged." 

"  I  would  not  have  such  a  heart  in  .my  bosom  for  the 
dignity  of  the  whole  body,"  said  the  gentlewoman. 

"  This  disease  is  beyond  my  practice,"  said  the  doctor  : 
"  yet  I  have  known  those  that  have  walked  in  their  sleep 
who  have  died  holily  in  their  beds." 

"  Wash  your  hands  ;  put  on  your  nightgown,  look  not 
so  pale  !"  muttered  Lady  Macbeth.  "  I  tell  you  yet 
again,  Banquo  is  buried  ;  he  cannot  come  out  of  his 
grave.  To  bed,  to  bed  !  There's  knocking  at  the  gate. 
Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand.  What's 
done  cannot  be  undone.  To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed  !"  And, 
with  a  gesture  as  if   she  were  dragging  some  invisible 

275  s  ^ 


Macbeth 

person  reluctantly  after  her,  Lady  Macbeth  took  up  her 
taper  and  slowly  retreated. 

The  strain  of  this  unceasing  remorse  by  day  and 
night  was  too  much  even  for  Lady  Macbeth's  daunt- 
less courage,  and  the  days  of  her  life  were  soon  to  be 
numbered. 

Macbeth  himself  was  bordering  on  a  state  of  frenzy. 
Some  said  he  was  mad  ;  others,  who  hated  him  less, 
called  it  valiant  fury.  Whichever  it  might  be,  certain 
it  was  that  his  excitement  was  beyond  control,  and  that 
he  could  not  direct  his  cause  in  a  reasonable  manner. 
Sick  at  heart,  void  of  all  hope,  he  yet  summoned  all  his 
courage,  and  resolved  to  fight  stubbornly  to  the  end,  like 
some  savage  animal  brought  to  bay. 

The  English  troops,  led  by  Malcolm  and  Macduff,  were 
close  at  hand,  and  the  Scottish  nobles  with  their  followers 
were  to  meet  them  near  Birnam  Wood.  From  here  the 
combined  forces  were  to  march  on  Dunsinane  Castle, 
where  Macbeth  now  was,  and  which  he  had  strongly 
fortified. 

Rumours  of  the  enemy's  might  filled  the  air,  but 
Macbeth,  trying  to  reassure  himself  with  the  witches' 
prophecy,  bade  his  people  bring  him  no  more  reports. 

"  Till  Birnam  Wood  remove  to  Dunsinane,  I  cannot 
quail  with  fear,"  he  declared.  "  What's  the  boy  Malcolm  ? 
Was  he  not  born  of  woman  ?  The  spirits  that  know  all 
mortal  consequences  have  said  to  me  thus  :  '  Fear  not, 
Macbeth ;  no  man  that's  born  of  woman  shall  e'er  have 
power  upon  thee.'  " 

So,  when  a  white-faced,  trembling  messenger  brought 
the  news  that  ten  thousand  English  soldiers  were  marching 

276 


Birnam    Wood 

on   Dunsinane,   Macbeth   silenced  him  with   curses  and 
abuse. 

But  his  momentary  rage  over,  he  fell  again  into  dejec- 
tion. 

"  I  am  sick  at  heart,"  he  said  ;  "  I  have  lived  long 
enough,  my  way  of  life  has  fallen  into  the  sere,  the  yellow 
leaf  ;  and  that  which  should  accompany  old  age,  such  as 
honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends,  I  must  not 
look  to  have  ;  but  in  their  stead,  curses  not  loud  but  deep, 
mouth -honour,  breath  which  the  poor  heart  would  fain 
deny,  but  dare  not." 

Then,  shaking  off  his  despondency  in  a  fresh  outburst 
of  fury,  he  rallied  his  men,  determined  to  make  a  most 
stubborn  resistance,  no  matter  what  forces  were  brought 
against  him.  "  I  will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane, 
till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane,"  he  cried,  once 
more  falling  back  for  comfort  on  the  witches'  prophecy. 

News  again  came  to  Macbeth  of  the  near  approach  of 
the  English,  and  that  the  Scottish  nobles  were  flocking 
to  the  standard  of  the  young  Prince.  But  he  refused 
to  be  daunted. 

"  Hang  out  our  banners  on  the  outward  walls,"  he 
shouted.  "  The  cry  is  still,  '  They  come.'  Our  castle's 
strength  will  laugh  a  siege  to  scorn  ;  here  let  them  lie 
till  famine  and  the  ague  eat  them  up." 

In  the  midst  of  his  warlike  commands,  a  cry  of  women 
was  heard  within  the  castle,  and  the  news  was  told  Mac- 
beth that  the  Queen  was  dead.  For  a  moment  he  was 
stunned.  This,  then,  was  the  end  of  all  their  plotting  and 
ambition  !  But  now  there  was  no  time  even  to  spend 
in  grief. 

277 


Macbeth 

"  She  should  have  died  hereafter,"  he  said,  with  a 
bitter  reflection  on  the  vanity  of  human  hfe.  "  There 
would  have  been  time  for  such  a  word.  To-morrow,  and 
to-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from 
day  to  day  to  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time,  and  all  our 
yesterdays  have  lighted  fools  the  way  to  dusty  death. 
Out,  out,  brief  candle  !  Life's  but  a  walking  shadow,  a 
poor  player  that  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
and  then  is  heard  no  more  ;  it  is  a  tale  told  by  an  idiot, 
full  of  sound  and  fury,  signifying  nothing." 

But  his  musing  was  interrupted  ;  a  messenger  came 
hurrying  up,  his  face  full  of  terror. 

"  Thou  comest  to  use  th\'  tongue  ;  thy  stor^^  quickly." 

The  man  sank  on  his  knee  before  Macbeth. 

"  Gracious  my  lord,  I  should  report  that  which  I  say 
I  saw,  but  know  not  how  to  do  it." 

"  Well,  say,  sir,"  said  Macbeth  impatiently. 

"As  I  stood  watching  upon  the  hill,  I  looked  towards 
Bimam,  and  anon,  methought,  the  wood  began  to  move." 

"  Liar  and  slave  !"  cried  Macbeth,  livid  with  fury,  and 
striking  the  man  to  the  ground. 

"  Let  me  endure  your  wrath  if  it  be  not  so,"  persisted 
the  messenger.  "  \Mthin  these  three  miles  you  may  see 
it  coming  ;  I  say,  a  moving  grove." 

"  If  thou  speak  false,  upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou 
hang  alive  till  famine  cling  thee,"  said  Macbeth.  "  If  th}^ 
speech  be  true,  I  care  not  if  thou  dost  as  much  for  me." 

His  resolution  faltered,  and  he  began  to  doubt  the 
falseness  of  the  fiends  that  lied  like  truth.  "  Fear  not 
till  Bimam  Wood  do  come  to  Dunsinane."  they  had  said. 
And  now  a  wood  was  coming  to  Dunsinane  ! 

278 


Birnam    Wood 

"  Arm,  arm,  and  out  !"  thundered  Macbeth. — "  If  this 
which  he  avouches  be  true,  there  is  no  flying  hence  nor 
tarrying  here,"  he  thought,  sick  at  heart.  "  I  begin  to  be 
aweary  of  the  sun,  and  wish  the  estate  of  the  world  were 
now  undone."  Then,  with  a  sudden  return  of  fury, 
"  Ring  the  alarum-bell !  Blow,  wind  !  come,  wrack  ! 
At  least  we'll  die  with  harness  on  our  back  !" 

The  strange  occurrence  reported  by  the  messenger  was 
indeed  true,  but  the  explanation  was  simple.  When  the 
English  and  Scotch  troops  met  near  Birnam  Wood,  in 
order  the  better  to  conceal  the  soldiers  as  they  marched 
to  Dunsinane,  Malcolm  commanded  that  every  man  should 
hew  down  a  leafy  bough,  and  bear  it  before  him,  thereby 
making  it  impossible  that  the  number  of  their  host  could 
be  discovered.  From  a  distance  this  mass  of  waving 
green  boughs  looked  exactly  as  if  Birnam  Wood  were 
advancing  on  Dunsinane. 

The  first  of  the  witches'  safeguards  had  failed  Macbeth, 
but  he  fell  back  with  desperate  reliance  on  the  other. 
Besides,  in  any  case,  it  was  now  too  late  to  retreat  ;  he 
must  fight  the  matter  out  to  the  end,  and  either  conquer 
or  be  lost  for  ever. 

"  They  have  tied  me  to  a  stake,"  he  cried.  "  I  cannot 
fly,  but,  bear-like,  I  must  fight  the  course.  What's  he 
that  was  not  born  of  woman  ?  Such  a  one  am  I  to  fear, 
or  none." 

In  his  furious  fighting  on  the  battle-field  he  presently 
encountered  one  of  the  English  leaders,  whom  he  promptly 
slew.  Macbeth  laughed  in  triumph,  for  he  felt  himself 
secure  ;  he  feared  no  weapon  brandished  by  any  man 
born  of  woman. 

279 


Macbeth 

But  the  hour  of  fate  was  at  hand.  Macduff,  scorning 
to  strike  the  wretched  peasants,  hired  to  fight,  sought 
everywhere  for  Macbeth,  determined  either  to  slay  the 
tyrant  or  sheathe  his  sword  unused.  And  at  last  he 
found  him. 

But  Macbeth  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  furious  chal- 
lenge. 

"  Of  all  men  else  I  have  avoided  thee,"  he  said.  "  But 
get  thee  back  ;  my  soul  is  too  much  charged  with  blood 
of  thine  already." 

"  I  have  no  words  ;  my  voice  is  in  my  sword,"  returned 
Macduff. 

They  fought,  but  for  awhile  neither  got  the  better. 
Then  Macbeth  told  Macduff  that  he  was  losing  labour, 
for  it  was  as  easy  for  his  keen  sword  to  hurt  the  air  as  to 
wound  him.  He  bore  a  charmed  life,  which  could  not 
yield  to  one  of  woman  born. 

"  Despair  thy  charm  !"  cried  Macduff.  And  the  next 
moment  Macbeth  knew  that  the  witches  had  doubly 
deceived  him,  for  his  second  hope  had  failed — Macduff 
proclaimed  that  his  birth  had  been  different  from  that 
of  ordinary  mortals,  so  that  in  a  way  he  might  be  said 
never  to  have  been  born. 

"  Accursed  be  the  tongue  that  tells  me  so  !"  exclaimed 
Macbeth,  "  for  it  hath  cowed  my  better  part  of  man.  And 
be  those  juggling  fiends  no  more  believed,  that  palter 
with  us  in  a  double  sense ;  that  keep  the  word  of  promise 
to  the  ear,  and  break  it  to  our  hope.  I'll  not  fight  with 
thee  !" 

"  Then  yield  thee,  coward  !"  taunted  Macduff,  "  and 
live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  of  the  time  ;  we'll  have  thee, 

?8o 


Birnam    Wood 

as  our  rarer  monsters  are,  painted  upon  a  pole,  and 
underwrit,  '  Here  you  may  see  the  tyrant.'  " 

His  words  goaded  Macbeth's  failing  nerve  to  fresh  fury. 
Desperate  and  despairing,  he  flung  his  final  challenge  at 
his  foe. 

"  I  will  not  yield  to  kiss  the  ground  before  young 
Malcolm's  feet,  and  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble's  curse/ 
Though  Birnam  Wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane,  and  thou 


"  Lay  on,  Macduff!" 

Opposed,  being  of  no  woman  born,  yet  I  will  try  the  last. 
Before  my  body  I  throw  my  warlike  shield.  Lay  on, 
Macduff,  and  cursed  be  him  that  first  cries,  '  Hold, 
enough  !'  " 


The  fight  was  over,  and  as  the  victorious  generals 
gathered  on  the  field  of  battle,  with  drums  beating  and 
flags  flying,  Macduff  approached,  bearing  the  head  of  the 

28x 


Macbeth 

slain  Macbeth,  and  saluted  the  young  Prince  Malcolm  as 
King  of  Scotland. 

"  Hail,  King  !  For  so  thou  art.  Behold  where  stands 
the  usurper's  cursed  head  ;  the  land  is  free.  Hail,  King 
of  Scotland  !" 

And  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  a  universal  shout  rent 
the  air  : 

"  Hail.  King  of  Scotland  !" 


"  The  wood  began  to  move." 


?M2 


A  Vision  at  Midnight 

REAT  was  the  sorrow  in  Denmark  when 
the  good  King  Hamlet  suddenly  died  in 
a  mysterious  manner.  The  rightful  heir, 
the  young  Prince  Hamlet,  was  at  that 
time  absent  in  Germany,  studying  at 
the  University  of  Wittenberg,  and  be- 
fore he  could  reach  home,  his  uncle  Claudius,  brother  to 
the  late  King,  had  seized  the  throne.  More  than  this  : 
within  two  months  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
Claudius  had  persuaded  the  widowed  Queen  Gertrude 
to  marry  himself. 

Hamlet,  called  back  to  Denmark  by  the  death  of  his 
father,  met  on  his  return  this  second  terrible  shock  of 
the  hasty  marriage  of  his  mother.  To  one  of  his  noble 
nature  such  an  action  seemed  almost  incredible.  For 
not  only  had  Queen  Gertrude  been  apparently  devoted 
to  her  first  husband,  but  the  two  brothers  were  so  abso- 

283 


Hamlet 

lutely  different,  both  in  appearance  and  character,  that 
it  was  difficult  to  imagine  how  anyone  who  had  known 
the  noble  King  Hamlet  could  descend  to  the  base  and 
contemptible  Claudius. 

King  Claudius  now  usurped  all  the  rights  of  sovereignty, 
and  by  being  very  suave  and  gracious  to  those  who  sur- 
rounded him  he  hoped  to  become  popular.  He  would 
fain  have  banished  all  remembrance  of  the  late  King, 
though  he  was  glib  enough  in  uttering  hypocritical  words 
of  sorrow.  By  pressing  on  the  festivities  of  his  marriage 
with  Gertrude,  he  hoped  to  get  rid  of  all  signs  of  mourning. 
But  the  young  Prince  Hamlet  refused  to  lay  aside  his 
suits  of  woe.  Among  the  gay  throng  that  crowded  the 
Court  of  the  new  monarch  he  moved,  a  figure  apart,  clad 
in  the  deepest  black,  and  with  his  brow  clouded  with 
melancholy.  His  mother,  Queen  Gertrude,  tried  some 
feeble  attempts  at  consolation,  but  her  commonplace, 
conventional  remarks  only  showed  how  shallow  was  her 
own  nature,  and  how  far  she  was  from  understanding 
her  son's  depth  of  feeling.  She  begged  him  to  put  off 
his  sombre  raiment,  and  look  with  a  friendly  eye  on  his 
uncle. 

"  Do  not  for  ever  with  thy  veiled  lids  seek  for  thy  noble 
father  in  the  dust,"  she  urged  him.  "  Thou  knowest  it 
is  common  ;  all  that  lives  must  die,  passing  through 
nature  to  eternity." 

"  Ay,  madam,  it  is  common,"  replied  Hamlet. 

"  If  it  be,  why  seems  it  so  particular  with  thee  ?" 
asked  the  Queen. 

"  '  Seems  '  madam  !  Nay,  it  is  ;  I  know  not  '  seems,'  " 
said  Hamlet,  with  noble  indignation.     And  then  he  went 

284 


A    Vision    at    Midnight 

on  to  say  that  it  was  not  his  inky  cloak,  nor  the  customary 
suits  of  solemn  black,  ncr  sighs,  nor  tears,  nor  a  dejected 
visage,  together  with  all  forms,  moods,  shapes  of  grief, 
that  could  denote  him  truly.  "  These  indeed  '  seem,'  for 
they  are  actions  that  a  man  might  play.  But  I  have  that 
within  which  passeth  show  ;  these  but  the  trappings  and 
the  suits  of  woe." 

Then  King  Claudius  took  up  the  theme,  and  dehvered 
a  homily  to  Hamlet  on  the  duty  of  remembering  that 
the  death  of  fathers  was  a  very  common  event,  and  one 
over  which  it  was  very  wrong  to  sorrow  much.  All  fathers 
died,  one  after  another  ;  it  was  a  law  of  nature,  and  it 
was  therefore  a  fault  against  heaven,  and  most  absurd 
in  reason,  to  lament  over  something  which  must  certainly 
happen.  To  a  son  who  had  loved  his  father,  as  Hamlet 
had  loved  his,  such  cold-blooded  moralising  was  nothing 
short  of  torture,  and  when  Claudius  went  on  to  bid  him 
throw  to  earth  his  unpre vailing  v/oe,  and  think  of  himself 
as  of  a  father,  the  young  Prince  shuddered  with  horror 
at  the  suggestion.  "  For  let  the  world  take  note,  you 
are  the  most  immediate  to  our  throne,"  added  Claudius 
pompously,  looking  round  at  the  assembled  courtiers. 
They  all  bowed  subserviently  at  this  announcement,  and 
lone  of  them  dared  so  much  as  to  hint  that  the  son  of  their 
late  King  was  their  rightful  ruler. 

When  he  found  how  events  were  going,  Hamlet  no 
longer  cared  to  remain  in  his  own  country,  and  would 
have  preferred  to  return  to  his  studies  at  Wittenberg  ; 
but  when  his  mother  joined  her  entreaties  to  his  uncle's, 
in  urging  him  to  stay  in  Denmark,  Hamlet  consented  tO 
do  so. 

285 


Hamlet 

In  spite  of  the  forced  joviality  which  the  new  King  tried 
to  impose  on  his  subjects,  there  was  a  feehng  of  uneasi- 
n3ss  abroad.  First,  there  were  rumours  of  war.  The 
lite  King  had  been  a  vahant  soldier,  and  had  fought 
victoriously  with  the  ambitious  neighbouring  State  of 
Norway.  King  Fortinbras  of  Norway,  out  of  pride,  had 
challenged  King  Hamlet,  but  had  met  with  defeat. 
Fortinbras  himself  was  slain,  and  some  of  his  possessions 
were  forfeited  to  Denmark.  On  the  death  of  Hamlet, 
young  Fortinbras,  thinking  that  perhaps  the  country 
would  be  in  an  unsettled  state,  or  holding  a  poor  opinion 
of  the  worth  of  its  new  ruler,  resolved  to  try  to  get  back 
smie  of  the  lands  his  father  had  lost.  He  therefore  col- 
lected a  band  of  reckless  followers,  ready  for  any  desperate 
enterprise,  and  prepared  to  invade  the  country.  News 
of  this  reaching  Denmark,  warlike  preparations  were  at 
once  set  on  foot  ;  day  and  night  there  was  toiling  of 
shipwrights  and  casting  of  cannon,  and  strict  watch  was 
kept  in  all  directions  against  the  possible  invaders. 

But  it  was  not  alone  the  thought  of  the  invasion  that 
disturbed  the  mmds  of  the  Danish  officers.  A  strange 
occurrence  had  lately  happened,  and  they  feared  it  boded 
no  good  to  the  country.  As  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Guard, 
Marcellus  and  Bernardo,  kept  their  watch  on  the  plat- 
form of  the  castle  at  Elsinore  the  Ghost  of  th*^  late  King 
appeared  to  them.  It  looked  exactly  the  same  as  they 
had  known  him  in  real  life,  clad  in  the  very  armour  he 
had  on  when  he  had  fought  against  Fortinbras  of  Norway. 
For  two  nights  running  this  figure  had  appeared  before 
them,  passing  by  them  three  times  with  slow  and  stately 
march,  while  they,  turned  almost  to  jelly  with  fear,  stood 

286 


A    Vision    at    Midnight 

dumb,  and  did  not  speak  to  it.  In  deep  secrecy  they 
imparted  the  news  to  Horatio,  a  fellow-student  and  great 
friend  of  the  young  Prince,  and  on  the  third  night  he  kept 
watch  with  them.  Everything  happened  exactly  as  they 
had  said,  and  at  the  accustomed  hour  the  apparition  again 
appeared.  Horatio  spoke  to  it,  imploring  it,  if  possible, 
to  tell  the  reason  of  its  coming.  At  first  the  Ghost  would 
not  answer,  but  it  was  just  lifting  its  head  as  if  about  to 
speak,  when  a  cock  crew  ;  then,  starting  like  a  guilty  thing 
upon  a  fearful  summons,  it  faded  from  their  sight. 

By  Horatio's  advice,  they  agreed  to  tell  young  Hamlet 
what  they  had  seen  ;  the  spirit  dumb  to  them  might  speak 
to  him.  Hamlet  heard  their  tale  with  astonishment. 
He  resolved  to  watch,  himself,  that  night,  and  if  the  appari- 
tion again  assumed  his  father's  person,  to  speak  to  it, 
though  all  the  spirits  of  evil  should  bid  him  hold  his  peace. 
He  begged  the  officers  to  keep  silence  about  what  they 
had  already  seen,  and  about  whatsoever  else  might  happen, 
and  promised  to  visit  them  on  the  platform  between 
eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  that  night. 

At  the  appointed  hour  Hamlet  was  on  the  spot,  and 
a  few  minutes  after  the  clock  had  struck  twelve  the  Ghost 
appeared.  Deeply  amazed,  but  resolute  to  know  the 
cause  why  his  father's  spirit  could  not  rest,  but  thus 
revisited  the  earth,  Hamlet  implored  the  Ghost  to  speak 
and  tell  him  the  meaning. 

"  Say,  why  is  this  ?  Wherefore  ?  What  should  we 
do  ?"  he  entreated. 

The  apparition  made  no  answer,  but  beckoned  to 
Hamlet  to  follow  it,  as  if  it  wished  to  speak  to  him  alone. 

*'  Look,  with  what  courteous  action  it  waves  you  to 

287 


Hamlet 

more   retired   ground.     But    do   not   go   with   it,"    said 
Marcellus. 

"  No,  by  no  means,"  said  Horatio. 

"  It  will  not  speak  ;  then  I  will  follow  it,"  said  Hamlet. 

"  Do  not,  my  lord,"  entreated  Horatio. 

"  Why,  what  should  be  the  fear  ?"  said  Hamlet.  "  I 
do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee  ;  and  for  my  soul,  what 
can  it  do  to  that,  being  a  thing  inmiortal  as  itself  ?  It 
waves  me  forth  again.     I'll  follow  it." 

Again  Hamlet's  companions  did  their  utmost  to  hinder 
him,  even  seizing  hold  of  him  to  prevent  his  going,  for 
they  feared  lest  the  mysterious  visitant  should  lure  him 
on  to  his  own  destruction.  But  Hamlet  shook  off  their 
detaining  hands,  and,  bidding  the  Ghost  go  before,  he 
boldly  followed. 

Having  led  the  young  Prince  to  a  lonely  part  of  the 
ramparts,  the  Ghost  at  last  consented  to  speak.  He  told 
Hamlet  that  he  was  indeed  the  spirit  of  his  father,  doomed 
for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  niglit,  and  by  day  to  suffer 
various  penalties,  till  the  sins  committed  in  his  life  had 
been  atoned  for.  He  then  went  on  to  exhort  Hamlet  that, 
if  ever  he  had  loved  his  father,  he  should  revenge  his  foul 
and  most  unnatural  murder. 

"  Murder  !"  gasped  Hamlet. 

"  Murder  most  foul,  as  in  the  best  it  is  ;  but  this  most 
foul,  strange,  and  unnatural,"  returned  the  Ghost  solemnly. 
"  Now,  Hamlet,  hear.  'Tis  given  out  that,  sleeping  in  my 
orchard,  a  serpent  stung  me  ;  so  the  whole  ear  of  Denmark 
is  by  a  forged  account  of  my  death  rankly  deceived.  But 
know,  thou  noble  youth,  the  serpent  that  stung  thy 
father's  life  now  wears  his  crown." 

g88 


A    Vision    at    Midnight 

"  O  my  prophetic  soul  !  My  uncle  !"  exclaimed 
Hamlet. 

"  Ay  !"  answered  the  Ghost  ;  and  then  he  broke  into 
rage  against  the  wicked  Claudius,  who,  after  murdering 
his  brother,  had,  with  his  subtle  craft  and  traitorous  gifts, 
contrived  to  win  the  affections  of  the  widowed  Queen. 

''  O   Hamlet, 
"-^^^  .  what    a  fall- 

-^^s^x:^  mg  off   was 

there!"  la- 
mented the 
Ghost,  for 
he  could  not 
help  know- 
ing how  in- 


"  Sleeping  within  my  orchard." 

finitely  beneath  him,  even  in  natural  gifts,  was  his  con- 
temptible brother. 

"  Sleeping  within  my  orchard,  my  custom  always  of  the 
afternoon,"  he  continued,  "  thy  uncle  stole  on  me,  with 
juice  of  henbane  in  a  vial,  which  he  poured  into  my  ears." 

The  effect  of  this  poison  was  instant  and  horrible  death, 
and  again  the  Ghost  urged  Hamlet  to  avenge  his  murder. 
But  he  commanded  his  son  that,  whatever  he  did  against 
his  uncle,  he  was  to  contrive  no  harm  against  his  mother. 

289  T 


Hamlet 

*'  Leave  her  to  heaven,  and  to  those  thorns  that  in  her 
bosom  lodge,  to  prick  and  sting,"  he  concluded.  "  Fare 
thee  well !  The  glow-worm  shows  the  matin  to  be  near, 
and  begins  to  pale  his  uneffectual  fire.  Adieu,  adieu, 
adieu  !     Remember  me." 

"  Remember  thee  !  Ay,  thou  poor  Ghost,  while  memory 
holds  a  seat  in  this  distracted  globe,"  cried  Hamlet,  as 
the  vision  faded  away,  and  far  across  the  sea  a  faint 
lightening  of  the  eastern  horizon  showed  that  the  dawn 
would  soon  appear.  "  Remember  thee  !  Yea,  from  the 
table  of  my  memory  I'll  wipe  away  all  trivial  fond  records, 
all  saws  of  books  that  youth  and  observation  copied  there, 
and  thy  commandment  all  alone  shall  live  within  the  book 
and  volume  of  my  brain,  unmixed  with  baser  matter  ; 
ves,  by  heaven!  —  O  villain,  villain,  smiling,  cursed 
villain  !  My  tables — meet  it  is  I  set  it  down,  that  one 
may  smile  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain — at  least,  I'm  sure 
it  may  be  so  in  Denmark.  So,  uncle,  there  you  are," 
putting  his  tablets  away.  "  Now  to  my  word.  It  is 
'  Adieu,  adieu  !     Remember  me  !'     I  have  sworn  it  !" 

Horatio  and  Marcellus  now  came  hurrying  up,  m.uch 
alarmed  for  the  safety  of  their  young  lord.  They  found 
him  in  a  strange  mood.  The  news  he  had  heard  from 
the  Ghost  had  been  such  a  shock  to  Hamlet  that  for  the 
moment  he  seemed  quite  unstrung,  and,  not  having  yet 
made  up  his  mind  how  to  act,  he  did  not  feel  inchned  to 
confide  to  his  companions  what  he  had  just  been  told. 
He  therefore  put  off  their  questionings  with  flippant 
speeches,  and  dismissed  them  in  a  somewhat  summary 
fashion. 

"  How  is  it,  my  noble  lord  ?"  cried  Marcellus. 

290 


A    Vision    at    Midnight 

"  What  news,  my  lord  ?"  asked  Horatio. 

"  Oh,  wonderful  !"  said  Hamlet. 

"  Good  my  lord,  tell  it,"  said  Horatio. 

"  No  ;  you  will  reveal  it." 

"  Not  I,  my  lord,  by  heaven  !"  said  Horatio,  and 
Marcellus  added  :  "  Nor  I,  my  lord." 

"  How  say  you  then  ?  Would  heart  of  man  once  think 
it But  you'll  be  secret  ?" 

"  Ay,  by  heaven,  my  lord  !"  cried  Horatio  and  Mar- 
cellus together. 

Hamlet  lowered  his  voice  to  a  tone  of  mysterious 
importance  : 

"  There's  ne'er  a  villain  dwelling  in  all  Denmark  but 
he's  an — arrant  knave." 

"  There  needs  no  ghost,  my  lord,  come  from  the  grave 
to  tell  us  this,"  said  Horatio,  hurt  at  Hamlet's  lack  of 
confidence. 

"  Why,  right  ;  you  are  in  the  right,"  said  Hamlet. 
"  And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all,  I  hold  it 
fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part,  you  as  your  business 
and  desire  shall  point  you — for  every  man  hath  business 
and  desire,  such  as  it  is — and,  for  my  own  poor  part,  look 
you,  I'll  go  pray." 

"  These  are  but  wild  and  whirling  words,  my  lord," 
said  Horatio,  justly  aggrieved. 

"I  am  sorry  they  offend  you,  heartily — yes,  faith, 
heartily  !" 

"There's  no  offence,  my  lord,"  said  Horatio,  rather 
stifily. 

"  Yes,  by  St.  Patrick,  but  there  is,  Horatio,  and 
much  offence,  too,"  returned  Hamlet,  but  it  was  of  the 

291  T  Z 


Hamlet 

wrong  done  by  his  uncle  he  was  thinking.  "  Touching 
this  vision  here,  it  is  an  honest  ghost,  that  let  me  tell  you. 
For  your  desire  to  know  what  is  between  us,  overmaster 
it  as  you  may.  And  now,  good  friends,  as  you  are  friends, 
scholars,  and  soldiers,  give  me  one  poor  request." 

"  What  is  it,  my  lord  ?     We  will,"  said  Horatio. 

"  Never  make  known  what  you  have  seen  to-night." 

"  My  lord,  we  will  not." 

"  Nay,  but  swear  it  ;  swear  by  my  sword." 

And  from  underneath  the  ground  sounded  a  solemn 
voice,  "  Swear  !" 

Twice  again  they  shifted  their  places,  and  each  time 
from  beneath  the  ground  came  the  hollow  voice,  "  Sw^ear  !" 

"  O  day  and  night,  but  this  is  wondrous  strange  !" 
marvelled  Horatio. 

"  And  therefore  as  a  stranger  give  it  welcome,"  said 
Hamlet.  "  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth, 
Horatio,  than  are  dreamt  of  in  our  philosophy." 

Then  he  made  them  swear  that  never,  however  strange 
or  odd  he  bore  himself,  as  he  perchance  hereafter 
should  think  meet  to  put  on  an  antic  disposition — that 
never  at  such  times,  seeing  him,  were  they  by  word  or 
sign  to  show  that  they  knew  anything,  or  with  meaning 
nods  and  smiles  pretend  they  could  explain  his  strange 
behaviour  if  they  chose. 

"  Swear  !"  said  the  Ghost  beneath. 

"  Rest,  rest,  perturbed  spirit  !"  said  Hamlet,  and  his 
companions  took  the  oath  demanded  of  them.  "So, 
gentlemen,  with  all  my  love  I  do  commend  me  to  you  ; 
and  what  so  poor  a  man  as  Hamlet  is,  may  do  to  express 
his  love  and  friending  to  you,  God  willing,  shall  not  lack. 

2Q2 


Ophelia 

Let  us  go  in  together  ;  and  still  your  fingers  on  your  lips, 
I  pray.  The  time  is  out  of  joint ;  O  cursed  spite,  that 
rver  I  was  born  to  set  it  right  ! — Nay,  come,  let  us  go 
together." 


Ophelia 

The  Lord  Chamberlain  to  the  Court  of  Denmark  was 
an  old  man  called  Polonius,  an  ancient  gray-bearded 
councillor,  whose  brain  was  stuffed  with  saws  and  pro- 
verbial sayings,  and  who  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  his 
own  sagacity.  Polonius  was  ready  to  lay  down  the  law 
on  every  occasion,  and  could  always  explain  everything 
completely  to  his  own  satisfaction  ;  the  worldly  wisdom 
of  what  he  said  was  sometimes  excellent,  but  his  prosy 
moralising  was  often  a  severe  tax  on  the  patience  of  his 
hearers ;  in  fact,  he  was  not  unfrequently  what  might  be 
called  "  a  tedious  old  bore." 

Polonius  had  two  children — a  handsome,  fiery-natured 
son  called  Laertes,  and  a  gentle,  beautiful  young  daughter 
called  Ophelia. 

Like  most  young  gallants  in  days  of  old,  Laertes  wished 
to  see  something  of  the  world  abroad,  and  directly  the 
coronation  was  over,  he  begged  permibiion  to  return  to 
France,  whence  he  had  come  to  Denmark  to  show  his 
duty  to  the  new  King.  Hearing  that  Polonius  had  granted 
leave,  though  unwillingly,  Claudius  graciously  gave  his 
own  consent,  and  Laertes  prepared  to  depart  at  once. 

Between  Ophelia  and  the  young  Prince  Hamlet  a 
tender  affection  had  grown  up.  As  children,  no  doubt, 
Ihey  had  been  companions,  for  the  boy  Prince  had  no 

293 


Hamlet 

brothers  or  sisters  of  his  own.  though  at  school  he  had  two 
friends  of  whom  he  was  very  fond,  Rosencrantz  and 
Guildenstern.  As  Hamlet  and  Opheha  grew  older  this 
feeling  became  stronger.  Their  intimacy  was  watched 
with  favour  by  Queen  Gertrude,  who  dearl}-  loved  the 
gentle  maiden,  and  wished  nothing  better  than  that  she 
should  become  the  wife  of  her  son.  So  far,  no  definite 
engagement  of  marriage  had  taken  place,  but  Hamlet 
was  deepl}'  attached  to  the  young  girl,  and  showed  his 
affection  by  many  gifts  and  words  of  love.  As  for  Ophelia, 
her  whole  being  was  wrapt  up  in  Hamlet.  And  small 
wonder,  far  peerless  in  grace  and  beautv,  gallant  in  bear- 
ing as  noble  in  nature,  the  young  Prince  shone  forth  far 
beyond  any  of  his  companions.  As  soldier,  courtier, 
scholar,  he  was  alike  distinguished — readv  in  wit,  skilled 
in  manh'  exercises,  highly  accomplished,  deeply  thought- 
ful, studious  in  learning,  a  prince  of  courtesy,  and  an 
affectionate  comrade.  What  marvel,  then,  that  he  had 
won  for  himself  the  absorbing  love  of  a  simple  maiden 
like  Ophelia,  and  the  whole-hearted  devotion  of  a  lo\'al 
friend  like  Horatio  ? 

Ophelia,  in  the  quiet  simplicity  of  her  nature,  accepted 
Hamlet's  love  without  question  ;  but  Laertes,  with  his 
larger  experience  of  the  world,  was  by  no  means  confident 
that  Hamlet  intended  an\'thing  serious,  and  on  the  eve  of 
his  departure  for  France  he  warned  his  sister  not  to  place 
too  much  reliance  on  the  young  Prince's  favour.  He 
bade  her  think  of  it  as  a  fashion  and  a  toy  to  amuse  the 
passing  hour — something  sweet,  but  not  lasting. 

"  No  more  but  so  ?"  said  Opheha  wistfully. 

"  Think    it    no    more,"    counselled    Laertes     fimiiy. 

294 


Ophelia 


"  Perhaps  he  loves  you  now,  sincerely  enough,  but  you 
must  fear,  weighing  his  greatness,  his  will  is  not  his  own  ; 
for  he  himself  is  subject  to  his  birth.  He  may  not,  as 
unvalued  persons  do,  choose  for  himself,  for  on  his 
choice  depends  the  safety  and  health  of  this  whole  State." 

Then,  sensibly  enough,  Laertes  pointed  out  that  even 
if  Hamlet  truly  loved  her,  reasons  of  state  might  prevent 
his  ever  marrying  her,  and  therefore  he  begged  his  sister 
to  be  careful  about  bestowing  her  love  too  unguardedly 
on  the  Prince. 

Poor  Ophelia's  heart  sank  lower  and  lower  at  her 
brother's  words,  but  she  meekly  promised  to  remember 
his  counsel.  Then  Polonius  came  in  and  gave  some 
excellent  parting  words  of  advice  to  his  son. 

"  Farewell,  Ophelia,  and  remember  well  what  I  have 
said  to  you,"  said  Laertes,  as  he  took  his  leave. 

"  What  is  it,  Ophelia,  he  hath  said  to  you  ?"  asked 
Polonius. 

"  So  please  you,  something  touching  the  lord  Hamlet." 

"  Marry,  well  bethought,"  said  the  old  man  ;  and  then 
in  his  turn  he  proceeded  to  lecture  his  daughter  on  some- 
what the  same  lines  as  Laertes  had  done. 

In  reply  to  his  questions,  Ophelia  told  him  that  Hamlet 
had  lately  made  her  many  offerings  of  affection,  and 
spoken  many  words  of  love.  But,  hke  Laertes,  Polonius 
would  not  believe  that  Hamlet  intended  them  seriously, 
or,  at  any  rate,  he  pretended  to  think  it  only  a  passing 
fancy  of  the  Prince's.  He  ordered  his  daughter,  therefore, 
to  be  more  chary  in  seeing  Hamlet — in  fact,  to  avoid  him 
as  much  as  possible. 

"  I  shall  obey,  my  lord,"  answered  Ophelia  dutifully. 

295 


Hamlet 

It  never  seemed  to  occur  to  her  to  question  her  father's 
win.  She  could  love  faithfully,  but  she  could  not  <=:truggle 
against  opposition.  So  when  the  tempest  came,  she  bent 
her  head  before  it,  like  a  frail  reed,  and  was  swept  resist- 
lessly  away. 


"Sweet  Bells  jangled,  out  of  Tune  and  Harsh" 

In  accordance  wdth  her  father's  injunctions,  Ophelia 
now  began  to  keep  aloof  from  Hamlet  ;  she  sent  no  an- 
swers to  his  letters,  and  refused  to  see  him.  In  the  deeply- 
absorbing  subject  which  had  occupied  Hamlet's  brain 
since  the  visit  of  the  Ghost,  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
he  felt  to  the  full  this  altered  behaviour  ;  but  when  all  joy 
on  earth  seemed  failing  him,  and  nothing  true  or  steadfast 
seemed  left,  it  was  perhaps  an  added  pang  that  even  the 
woman  he  loved  should  choose  this  moment  to  withdraw 
her  sympathy  and  companionship.  Hamlet  had  sworn 
to  his  father's  spirit  henceforth  to  banish  from  his  mind 
the  remembrance  of  everything  but  revenge.  His  love 
for  Ophelia,  therefore,  must  take  a  secondary  place ;  but 
he  could  not  give  it  up  so  easily,  though  he  made  an 
attempt  to  do  so.  There  was  a  constant  struggle  going 
on  in  his  mind  ;  his  was  the  misery  of  one  who  has  a 
harder  task  imposed  on  him  than  he  has  strength  to 
carry  out.  He  knew  his  duty,  but  he  could  not  do  it. 
He  pondered  and  pondered  over  the  matter,  he  reflected 
deeply  over  the  problems  and  difficulties  of  life  ;  he  could 
think,  and  suffer,  and  plan,  but  he  could  not  act.  Time 
passed  on,  and  still  he  had  taken  no  decisive  step.      Day 

296 


^' Sweet   Bells   jangled" 

efter  day  he  saw  the  false,  fawning  smile  of  the  traitor 
who  had  stolen  his  father's  crown.  He  knew  himself  to 
be  thrust  out  of  his  own  lawful  place,  a  poor  dependent 
on  the  will  of  the  usurper,  instead  of  enjoying  his  lawful 
rights  as  his  father's  successor.  But  there  was  something 
in  the  sweet  nobility  of  Hamlet  which  wrought  its  own 
downfall.  A  coarser,  blunter  nature  that  went  straight  to 
its  mark,  and  either  did  not  see,  or  did  not  trouble  itself, 
about  any  side-issues,  would  have  won  its  object ;  but 
Hamlet's  delicate,  highly-strung  spirit  was  not  of  the  kind 
to  command  worldly  success. 

The  perpetual  trouble  and  perplexity  in  which  he  was 
plunged,  and  the  bitter  sense  of  his  own  irresolution, 
wrought  a  great  change  in  the  young  Prince.  Utterly 
out  of  sympathy  with  the  whole  Court  of  Denmark,  and 
the  better  to  conceal  the  workings  of  his  mind,  he  adopted 
a  strange  mode  of  behaviour.  He  enjoyed  the  freedom 
this  gave  him  of  dispensing  with  the  hypocrisy  which  was 
so  prevalent  at  Court,  and  he  took  a  half-bitter  amusement 
in  playing  the  part  of  one  whose  wits  are  wandering,  and 
who  is  therefore  privileged  to  indulge  in  wild  and  random 
speech.  But  at  any  instant  he  could  lay  aside  this  garb  of 
eccentricity.  With  his  old  friends  he  was  still  the  warm- 
hearted comrade,  and  to  those  in  a  lower  position  he  was 
invariably  a  Prince  of  royal  courtesy  and  kindness. 

The  King  and  Queen  were  much  concerned  at  this 
change  in  Hamlet,  and  could  not  imagine  what  caused  it, 
unless  it  were  his  father's  death.  They  sent  in  haste  for 
two  favourite  friends  of  his  boyhood  to  see  if  they  could 
cheer  him  up  with  their  company,  and  privately  glean 
if  there  were  anything  afflicting  him  unknown  to  them. 

297 


Hamlet 

Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern  promised  to  do  their  best, 
and  the  Queen  ordered  them  to  be  at  once  conducted  to 
Hamlet. 

In  the  meanwhile,  old  Polonius  had  solved  the  problem 
of  Hamlet's  madness  entirely  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and 
he  now  came  in  triumph  to  impart  his  discovery  to  the 
King  and  Queen.  It  was,  of  course,  quite  impossible  foi 
him  to  tell  his  tale  in  a  few  words,  but  after  an  immense 
deal  of  beating  round  the  bush,  at  last  he  came  to  the 
point.  Briefly,  it  amounted  to  this  :  Hamlet  had  become 
mad  because  Ophelia  had  rejected  his  love.  Oh,  Polonius 
was  quite  certain  about  it,  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  fact  ; 
and  he  carefully  traced  in  detail  all  the  various  stages 
of  Hamlet's  malady,  which,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  only 
existed  in  the  old  Chamberlain's  imagination.  Polonius 
further  produced  as  evidence  a  wild  sort  of  letter  that 
Hamlet  had  written  to  Ophelia,  and  was  quite  offended 
when  the  King  and  Queen  seemed  to  hesitate  a  little  in 
accepting  his  explanation  of  the  problem. 

"  Hath  there  been  such  a  time,  I  would  fain  know  that, 
that  I  have  positively  said  '  'Tis  so  '  when  it  proved 
otherwise  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know,"  said  the  King. 

"  Take  this  from  this,"  said  Polonius,  pointing  to  his 
head  and  shoulders,  "  if  this  be  otherwise.  If  circum- 
stances lead  me,  I  will  find  where  truth  is  hid,  though  it 
were  hid  indeed  within  the  centre." 

"  How  may  we  try  it  further  ?"  asked  the  King. 

Polonius  replied  that  Hamlet  often  walked  for  hours 
together  in  the  lobby  where  they  then  were,  and  suggested 
that  at  such  a  time  Ophelia  should  be  sent  to  speak  to 

298 


^^  Sweet    Bells   jangled" 

him  ;  he  ana  the  King,  secretly  hidden  behind  the  arras, 
would  watch  the  interview. 

"  If  he  love  her  not,  and  be  not  fallen  from  his  reason 
because  of  it,  let  me  be  no  assistant  for  a  State,  but  keep 
a  farm  and  carters,"  concluded  Polonius  complacently. 

"  We  will  try  it,"  said  the  King. 

"  But  look  where  sadly  the  poor  wretch  comes  read- 
ing," said  the  Queen,  as  Hamlet  himself  entered  the  lobby 
at  that  moment,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  open  book  he  held 
in  his  hand. 

"  Away,  I  do  beseech  you — both  awav  !"  cried  Polonius 
eagerly.  "  I  will  speak  to  him. — How  does  my  good 
Lord  Hamlet  ?"  he  added  suavely,  as  Hamlet  approached. 

"  Well,  God  have  mercy  !"  said  Hamlet,  in  a  voice  of 
vacant  indifference. 

"  Do  you  know  me,  my  lord  ?"  said  Polonius,  still  in 
the  same  coaxing  tone. 

The  young  Prince  lifted  his  listless  eyes  from  his  book 
and  surveyed  the  old  man. 

"  Excellent  well  ;  you  are  a  fishmonger." 

"  Not  I,  my  lord,"  said  Polonius,  rather  taken 
aback. 

"  Then  I  would  you  were  so  honest  a  man." 

"  Honest,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Ay,  sir  !  To  be  honest,  as  this  world  goes,  is  to  be 
one  man  picked  out  of  ten  thousand." 

"  That's  very  true,  my  lord,"  Polonius  was  forced  to 
agree.  He  had  not  come  off  very  well  m  this  first  en- 
counter of  wits,  but  he  resolved  to  make  a  further  attempt. 
Hamlet  had  now  returned  to  his  book.  "  What  do  you 
read,  my  lord  ?" 

299 


Hamlet 

"  Words — words — words,"  said  the  young  Prince 
wearily. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Between  who  ?" 

"  I  mean,  the  matter  that  you  read,  my  lord  ?" 

'*  Slanders,  sir,"  said  Hamlet,  looking  full  at  him,  and 
pretending  to  point  to  a  passage  in  the  book,  "  for  the 
satirical  rogue  says  here  that  old  men  have  gray  beards, 
that  their  faces  are  wrinkled,  and  that  they  have  a  plenti- 
ful lack  of  wit,  together  with  most  weak  limbs  ;  all  which, 
sir,  though  I  most  powerfully  and  potently  believe,  yet 
I  hold  it  not  honesty  to  have  it  thus  set  down  ;  for  your- 
self, sir,  should  be  as  old  as  I  am — if  like  a  crab  you  could 
go  backward." 

"  Though  this  be  madness,  yet  there  is  method  in  it,"  said 
Polonius  aside.    "  Will  you  walk  out  of  the  air,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Into  my  grave." 

"  Indeed,  that  is  out  of  the  air,"  remarked  Polonius 
struck  by  the  wisdom  of  Hamlet's  replies.  "  Well,  I  will 
leave  him,  and  suddenly  contrive  the  means  of  meeting 
between  him  and  my  daughter.  My  honourable  lord,  I 
will  most  humbly  take  my  leave  of  you." 

"  You  cannot,  sir,  take  from  me  anything  that  I  will 
more  willingly  part  withal,"  said  Hamlet,  bowing  low 
with  exaggerated  courtesy  ;  then,  as  he  turned  away,  the 
satire  in  his  voice  changed  to  a  note  of  hopeless  despair 
— "  except  my  life — except  my  life — except  my  life,"  he 
ended,  with  almost  a  groan. 

"  Fare  you  well,  my  lord,"  said  Polonius  ;  and  as  he 
fussily  took  himself  off,  Hamlet  muttered  under  his  breath, 
"  Those  tedious  old  fools  !" 

300 


^' Sweet    Bells   jangled" 

Hamlet,  for  his  own  purpose,  had  chosen  to  amuse 
himself  at  the  expense  of  the  pompous  old  Chamberlain, 
but  directly  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern  appeared  he 
was  again  himself,  and  the  warm-hearted  friend  of  old 
days.  He  greeted  them  with  the  utmost  cordiality,  and 
nothing  could  have  exceeded  the  gracious  charm  of  his 
manner.  If  only  they  had  met  him  with  the  same  frank 
candour,  all  would  have  been  well ;  but  his  quick  penetra- 
tion soon  discovered  from  their  expression  that  there  was 
something  in  the  background,  and  he  presently  made  them 
confess  that  their  visit  to  Elsinore  had  not  been  prompted 
solely  by  the  desire  to  see  Hamlet,  but  that  they  had  been 
sent  for  by  the  King  and  Queen.  When  Hamlet  won 
from  them  reluctantly  this  admission,  his  trust  in  them 
fled,  and  he  determined  to  be  on  his  guard  with  them. 
He  told  them  he  could  tell  why  they  had  been  sent  for, 
and  thus  they  need  not  fear  betraying  any  secret  of  the 
King  and  Queen. 

"  I  have  of  late — but  wherefore  I  know  not — lost  all  my 
mirth,  foregone  all  custom  of  exercises,"  he  said,  "  and, 
indeed,  it  goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposition  that  this 
goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile  promontory  ; 
this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look  you,  this  brave, 
o'erhanging  firmament,  this  majestical  roof  fretted  with 
golden  fire — why,  it  appears  no  other  thing  to  me  than 
a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapours.  What  a 
piece  of  work  is  a  man  !  How  noble  in  reason  !  How 
infinite  in  faculty  !  In  form  and  moving  how  express 
and  admirable  !  In  action  how  like  an  angel !  In 
apprehension  how  like  a  god  !  The  beauty  of  the  world, 
the  paragon  of  animals  !     And  yet,  to  me,  what  is  this 

301 


Hamlet 

quintessence  of  dust  ?  Man  delights  not  me — no,  nor 
woman  either,  though  by  your  smihng  you  seem  to  say  so." 

"  My  lord,  there  was  no  such  stuff  in  my  thoughts,"  said 
Rosencrantz. 

"  Why  did  you  laugh,  then,  when  I  said  '  Man  delights 
not  me  '  ?" 

Rosencrantz  answered  that  he  was  only  thinking,  if 
Hamlet  delighted  not  in  man,  what  sorry  entertainment 
the  band  of  players  would  receive,  whom  they  had  over- 
take^ on  the  way  to  Elsinore. 

Hamlet  replied  that  they  would  all  be  welcome,  and 
asked  what  players  they  were. 

"  Even  those  you  were  wont  to  take  such  delight  in, 
the  tragedians  of  the  city,"  answered  Rosencrantz. 

Hamlet's  interest  was  at  once  aroused,  and  he  was 
discussing  the  subject  of  the  players,  and  the  reason  why 
they  were  forced  to  travel,  instead  of  keeping  to  their  old 
position  in  the  city,  when  a  flourish  of  trumpets  announced 
they  had  arrived.  Before  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern 
left  him,  Hamlet  spoke  a  parting  word  to  them. 

"  Gentlemen,  you  are  welcome,"  he  said  courteously. 
"  Your  hands,  come  then  " — for  they  would  merely  have 
bowed  respectfully.  "  You  are  welcome  ;  but  my  uncle- 
father  and  aunt-mother  are  deceived." 

"  In  what,  my  dear  lord  ?"  asked  Guildenstern. 

"  I  am  but  mad  north-north-west,"  said  Hamlet 
gravely  :  "  when  the  wind  is  southerly  I  know  a  hawk 
from  a  handsaw." 

Hamlet's  speech  may  or  may  not  have  puzzled  the 
young  men  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  but,  all  the  same, 
u  was  excellent  good  sense,  and  meant  that  he  was  in 

30? 


ii 


Sweet    Bells   jangled 


full  possession  of  his  faculties.  His  metaphor  was  taken 
from  the  old  sport  of  hawking  ;  the  word  "  handsaw  "  is 
a  local  corruption  for  "  heron."  The  heron,  when  pursued, 
flew  with  the  wind  ;  therefore  when  the  wind  was  from 
the  north  it  flew  towards  the  south  ;  as  the  sun  is  in  this 
quarter  during  the  morning  (when  the  sport  generally 
took  place),  it  would  be  difficult  to  distinguish  the  two 
birds  when  looking  towards  this  dazzling  light.  On  the 
other  hand,  when  the  wind  was  southerly,  the  heron  flew 
towards  the  north,  and,  with  his  back  to  the  sun,  the  spec- 
tator could  easily  tell  which  was  the  hawk  and  which  was 
the  heron. 

By  his  speech,  therefore,  Hamlet  meant  to  imply  that 
his  intelligence  was  just  as  keen  as  that  of  other  people. 

Old  Polonius  now  entered  in  a  state  of  great  excitement 
to  announce  the  arrival  of  the  players.  "  The  best  actors 
in  the  world,"  as  he  expressed  it,  "  either  for  tragedy, 
comedy,  history,  pastoral,  pastoral-comical,  historical- 
pastoral,  tragical-historical,  tragical-comical-historical- 
pastoral,  scene  individable,  or  poem  unlimited  ;  Seneca 
cannot  be  too  heavy,  nor  Plautus  too  light.  For  the  law 
of  writ  and  the  liberty,  these  are  the  only  men." 

"  You  are  welcome,  masters — welcome  all,"  said  the 
young  Prince,  with  his  ready  ourtesy.  "  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  well.     Welcome,  good  friends." 

And  for  each  one  he  had  some  kindly  word  of  greeting 
and  remembrance.  Then  he  bade  them  give  at  once  a 
specimen  of  their  power:  ;  and  as  a  proof  of  the  breadth 
of  Hamlet's  nature,  and  the  wideness  of  his  sympathies, 
may  be  noted  the  fact  that  he  was  as  much  at  home  in 
discussing  stage  matters  with  the  players  as  in  musing  over 

303 


Hamlet 

deep  philosophies  of  life  by  himself.  He  recalled  to  their 
memory  a  play  which  had  formerly  struck  his  fancy, 
though  it  had  never  been  acted,  or,  if  it  were,  not  above 
once,  for  it  was  too  refined  for  the  taste  of  the  million — 
"  caviare  to  the  general,"  as  Hamlet  expressed  it.  Ham- 
let himself  recited  a  speech  from  this  play  with  excellent 
taste  and  elocution,  and  the  chief  player  continued  the 
touching  passage  with  much  pathos. 

Noting  the  effect  that  the  player's  mimic  passion  had 
on  the  spectators,  a  sudden  idea  came  to  Hamlet,  and 
when  the  other  actors  were  dismissed,  in  the  charge  of  the 
fussy  Polonius,  he  kept  back  the  first  player  to  speak  a 
few  words  to  him. 

"  We'll  have  a  play  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  Dost  thou 
hear  me,  old  friend :  can  you  play  the  Murder  of 
Gonzago  ?" 

"  Ay,  my  lord." 

"  We'll  have  it  to-morrow  night.  You  could,  for  a 
need,  study  a  speech  of  some  dozen  or  sixteen  lines,  which 
I  would  set  down  and  insert  in  it,  could  you  not  ?" 

"  Ay,  my  lord." 

"  Very  well.  Follow  that  lord,  and,  look  you,  mock 
him  not,"  said  Hamlet,  sending  him  to  rejoin  his  com- 
panions. 

Left  alone,  a  bitter  feeling  of  disgust  at  his  own  weak- 
ness and  irresolution  seized  Hamlet.  The  sight  of  this 
actor's  passion  and  despair  over  the  fate  of  an  entirely 
imaginary  person  made  him  realise  his  own  lack  of  dut}/ 
with  regard  to  his  father.  Here  was  a  King  who  had  been 
most  cruelly  murdered,  and  his  son  did  nothing  to  avenge 
his   loss,  but,  like  John-a-dreams,  idle   of   his   cause — a 

304 


^^  Sweet    Bells   jangled" 

dull,  spiritless  rascal — he  simply  wasted  his  time  in  brood- 
ing, and  said  nothing.  His  wrath  against  his  uncle  blazed 
up  again  with  sudden  fury,  and  all  his  thoughts  turned 
to  vengeance.  But  he  checked  his  exclamations  to  plan 
practical  measures. 

"  About,  my  brain  '  Hum  ! — I  have  heard  that  guilty 
creatures,  sitting  at  a  play,  have  by  the  very  cunning  of 
the  scene  been  struck  so  to  the  soul  that  presently  they 
have  proclaimed  their  ill  deeds  ;  for  murder,  though 
it  have  no  tongue,  will  speak  in  most  miraculous 
fashion.  I'll  have  these  players  play  something  like  the 
murder  of  my  father  before  mine  uncle ;  I'll  observe  his 
looks  ;  I'll  tent  him  to  the  quick  ;  if  he  but  blench,  I 
know  my  course.  The  spirit  that  I  have  seen  may  be  the 
devil ;  and  the  devil  hath  power  to  assume  a  pleasing 
shape.  I'll  have  grounds  more  relative  than  this,"  con- 
cluded Hamlet,  touching  the  tablets  on  which  he  had 
inscribed  the  message  from  the  Ghost.  "The  play's  the 
thing  wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  King." 


"  The  Mouse-trap  " 

Next  day,  in  accordance  with  their  scheme,  the  King 
and  Polonius  hid  themselves  behind  the  arras,  to  listen 
to  the  interview  between  Hamlet  and  Ophelia.  Hamlet, 
as  usual,  was  meditating  deeply  on  the  problems  of  life, 
when  Ophelia  approached,  and  offered  to  restore  to  him 
some  gifts  which  he  had  given  her  in  happier  days. 

In  the  sudden  tragedy  which  had  overwhelmed  Ham- 
let's whole  being,  his  love  for  Ophelia  seemed  something 

305  u 


Hamlet 

very  far  away,  but  the  old  tenderness  was  always  strug- 
gling to  assert  itself.  He  tried,  however,  to  force  it  down, 
and  even  assumed  an  air  of  harsh  indifference  which 
almost  broke  Ophelia's  heart.  In  apparently  wild  and 
rambling  words,  but  really  deeply  penetrated  with  pity, 
he  gave  her  to  understand  that  all  thoughts  of  marriage 
between  them  must  now  be  over,  and  bade  the  young 
girl  get  to  a  nunnery,  and  that  quickly,  too.  The  hollo w- 
ness  and  hypocrisy  that  he  saw  all  around  him  goaded 
his  spirit  almost  beyond  endurance,  and  now  another 
blow  to  his  belief  in  human  nature  was  to  be  struck. 

When  Polonius  hid  himself  behind  the  arras  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  Ophelia  knew  he  was  there,  or,  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment,  she  may  possibly  have  forgotten 
the  fact.  Anyhow,  when  Hamlet  suddenly  asked  her, 
"Where's  your  father?"  she  answered,  "At  home,  my 
lord."  But  her  reply  filled  Hamlet  with  fresh  scorn  for 
the  apparent  insincerity  of  this  innocent  young  girl.  He 
had  seen  the  arras  stir,  and  Polonius's  old  gray  head 
peep  out  ;  he  naturally  thought  that  Ophelia  was  in 
league  with  the  rest  of  the  world  to  spy  upon  him  and 
deceive  him. 

"  Let  the  doors  be  shut  upon  him,  that  he  may  play  the 
fool  nowhere  but  in  his  own  house,"  he  said,  in  clear, 
cutting  accents,  when  he  heard  Ophelia's  response. 
"  Farewell  !" 

"  Oh,  help  him,  you  sweet  heavens  !"  murmured  Ophelia. 

It  seemed  quite  evident  to  her  that  the  unfortunate 
young  Prince  had  lost  his  reason. 

"  If  thou  dost  marry,  I'll  give  thee  this  plague  for  thy 
4owry,"  cried  Hamlet  wildly  :  "  be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice, 

306 


"  The    Mouse-trap  " 

as  pure  as  snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny.     Get 
thee  to  a  nunnery.     Go  ;  farewell  !" 

"  O  heavenly  powers,  restore  him  !"  prayed  Ophelia 
again. 

"  I  have  heard  of  your  paintings,  too,  well  enough," 
continued  Hamlet,  with  increasing  violence.  "  God  hath 
given  you  one  face,  and  you  make  yourselves  another  ; 
you  jig,  you  amble,  and  you  lisp,  and  nickname  God's 
creatures.  Go  to,  I'll  no  more  on  it  ;  it  hath  made  me 
mad.  I  say,  we  will  have  no  more  marriages  ;  those 
that  are  married  already — all  but  one  " — here  he  looked 
darkly  towards  the  arras,  where  he  knew  the  King  was 
concealed  with  Polonius — "  shall  live  ;  the  rest  shall  keep 
as  they  are.     To  a  nunnery,  go  !" 

And  with  a  furious  gesture  of  dismissal  Hamlet 
hurried  from  the  room. 

"Oh,  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown  !"  sighed 
Ophelia  piteously.  "  The  courtier's,  soldier's,  scholar's 
eye,  tongue,  sword  ;  the  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair 
state,  the  glass  of  fashion,  and  the  mould  of  form,  the 
observed  of  all  observers  quite,  quite  down  !  And  I,  of 
ladies  most  deject  and  wretched,  that  sucked  the  honey 
of  his  music  vows,  now  see  that  noble  and  most  sovereign 
reason,  like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh  ! 
Oh,  woe  is  me,  to  have  seen  what  I  have  seen,  see  what  I 
see  !" 

While  Ophelia  was  musing  thus  sadly,  the  King  and 
Polonius  stepped  from  their  hiding-place.  The  King  wa:^ 
not  at  all  satisfied  that  Polonius  was  right  in  his  surmise 
that  Hamlet  had  lost  his  reason  because  of  Ophelia's 
rejected  love. 

307  u  2 


Hamlet 

*'  Love  !  His  affections  do  not  tend  that  way, '  he 
said  decidedly.  "  Nor  was  what  he  spoke,  though  it 
lacked  form  a  little,  like  madness.  There  is  something 
in  his  soul  over  which  his  melancholy  sits  brooding,  and 
I  fear  the  result  will  be  some  danger.  To  prevent  this, 
I  have  determined  that  he  shall  depart  with  speed 
for  England,  to  demand  there  our  neglected  tribute. 
Haply  the  sea  and  the  sight  of  foreign  countries  will  expel 
this  settled  matter  in  his  heart,  about  which  his  brains, 
always  beating,  makes  him  thus  unlike  himself." 

Polonius  agreed  that  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  send 
Hamlet  to  England,  though  he  would  not  give  up  his 
idea  that  the  origin  and  commencement  of  Hamlet's  grief 
sprang  from  neglected  love.  He  further  suggested  that 
after  the  play  the  Queen  should  have  an  interview  alone 
with  Hamlet,  and  try  to  get  from  him  the  cause  of  his 
grief,  and  that  Polonius  himself  should  be  placed  where 
he  could  hear  their  conference. 

"  If  the  Queen  cannot  discover  the  cause,  send  him  to 
England,  or  confine  him  where  your  wisdom  shall  think 
best,"  he  concluded. 

"  It  shall  be  so,"  declared  the  King.  "  Madness  in 
great  ones  must  not  go  unwatched." 

The  play  on  which  so  much  depended  was  now  to  be 
performed.  Hamlet  had  inserted  some  speeches  of  his 
own,  and  before  the  performance  began  he  gave  some 
excellent  advice  to  the  players  on  the  art  of  acting. 
While  they  were  making  ready,  Hamlet  had  a  few  private 
words  with  Horatio.  In  the  midst  of  the  trouble  and 
turmoil  of  his  own  soul,   his  fretted  spirit  turned  with 

308 


^^The    Mouse-trap" 

deep  affection  to  the  quiet  strength  of  this  faithful 
friend. 

"  Give  me  that  man  that  is  not  passion's  slave,  and  I 
will  wear  him  in  my  heart's  core — ay,  in  my  heart  of 
heart,  as  I  do  thee,"  he  said  tenderly  to  Horatio. 

He  had  already  confided  to  him  what  the  Ghost  had 
related,  and  now  he  told  him  that  he  had  laid  a  trap  to 
discover  if  what  it  said  were  true  ;  one  scene  in  the  play 
was  to  represent  closely  the  circumstances  of  his  father's 
death,  and  he  begged  Horatio,  when  that  act  came,  to 
observe  the  King  with  all  the  power  of  his  soul.  If  his 
guilt  did  not  reveal  itself  at  one  speech,  then  the  Ghost 
must  have  spoken  falsely,  and  Hamlet's  own  imagination 
was  black  and  wicked. 

"  Give  him  heedful  note,"  he  said,  "  for  I  will  rivet  my 
eyes  to  his  face,  and  afterwards  we  will  compare  our 
impressions  in  judging  his  appearance." 

"  Well,  my  lord,  if  he  steal  anything  whilst  this  play 
is  playing,  and  escape  detection,  I  will  pay  the  theft," 
said  Horatio,  meaning  by  this  that  his  watch  would  never 
waver. 

"  They  are  coming  to  the  play  ;  I  must  be  idle.  Get 
you  a  place,"  said  Hamlet. 

The  music  of  the  Danish  royal  march  was  heard,  there 
was  a  flourish  of  trumpets,  and,  attended  by  the  full 
Court,  the  King  and  Queen  entered  the  great  hall  of  the 
castle.  Old  Polonius  marshalled  them,  bowing  back- 
wards before  them  ;  Ophelia  followed  in  the  train  of  the 
Queen  ;  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern,  with  other  atten- 
dant lords,  were  there,  and  guards  carried  torches  to 
light   up   the   scene.     The  King   and   Queen   took   their 

30Q 


Hamlet 

seats  on  thrones  provided  for  them  at  one  side  of  the 
stage  ;  OpheHa  sat  in  a  chair  opposite  ;  Horatio  took  up 
his  stand  at  the  back  of  Ophelia's  chair,  where,  unnoticed 
himself,  he  could  watch  the  King's  face  ;  and  Hamlet, 
who  on  their  entrance  had  immediately  assumed  his  air 
of  madness,  flung  himself  on  the  ground  at  Ophelia's 
feet. 

The  play  began.  First  the  scene  was  given  in  dumb 
show.  It  represented  a  King  and  Queen  who  were  appar- 
ently very  affectionate  together.  Presently  the  King  lay 
down  on  a  bank  of  flowers,  and  the  Queen,  seeing  him 
asleep,  left  him.  Soon  another  man  came  in,  who  took  off 
the  King's  crown,  kissed  it,  poured  poison  into  the  sleeper's 
ear,  and  went  off.  The  Queen  returned,  found  the  King 
dead,  and  showed  passionate  signs  of  grief.  The  poisoner 
came  back,  seemed  to  lament  with  her ;  the  body  of  the 
dead  King  was  carried  away.  Then  the  poisoner  wooed 
the  Queen  with  gifts.  She  seemed  for  a  while  loath  and 
unwilling,  but  in  the  end  accepted  his  love. 

Claudius  at  the  sight  of  this  scene  betrayed  many  signs 
of  secret  uneasiness,  but  ne  made  no  open  remark,  and 
the  other  spectators  were  too  intent  on  the  play  to  notice 
him.  Only  Horatio,  from  his  place  opposite,  kept  careful 
watch,  and  Hamlet,  lying  on  the  ground,  quivering  with 
excitement,  never  took  his  eyes  from  the  guilty  man's 
face.  The  Queen  and  Ophelia  looked  on  with  rather 
languid  interest. 

"  What  means  this,  my  lord  ?"  asked  Ophelia,  when  the 
dumb  show  had  come  to  an  end. 

"  Marry,  this  is  miching  mallecho  ;  it  means  mischief," 
said  Hamlet. 

310 


a 


The    Mouse-trap 


"  Belike  this  show  imports  the  argument  of  the  play," 
said  Ophelia,  which  indeed  proved  to  be  the  case. 

Now  the  real  players  came  on,  who  had  to  speak,  and 
the  action  followed  the  same  lines  as  the  dumb  show,  the 
player  Queen  pouring  forth  boundless  expressions  of 
devotion  to  her  husband. 

"  Madam,  how  like  you  this  play  ?"  asked  Hamlet 
presently,  when  a  pause  occurred. 

"  The  lady  doth  protest  too  much,  methinks,"  said  the 
Queen. 

"  Oh,  but  she'll  keep  her  word,"  said  Hamlet,  with  biting 
sarcasm. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  argument  ?  Is  there  no  offence 
in  it  ?"  asked  the  King  uneasily. 

"  No,  no  ;  they  do  but  jest — poison  in  jest;  no  offence 
in  the  world,"  returned  Hamlet,  looking  at  him  with 
strange  malice  in  his  eyes. 

The  King  winced,  but  tried  to  appear  unconcerned. 

"  What  do  you  call  the  play  ?" 

"  '  The  Mouse-trap.'  Marry,  how  ?  Tropically,"  con- 
tinued Hamlet,  still  in  the  same  wild  manner.  "  This 
play  is  the  image  of  a  murder  done  in  Vienna  ;  Gonzago 
is  the  Duke's  name,  his  wife  Baptista.  You  shall  see 
anon.  'Tis  a  knavish  piece  of  work  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
Your  Majesty  and  we  that  have  free  souls,  it  touches  us 
not ;  let  the  galled  jade  wince,  our  withers  are  un- 
wrung." 

The  King  grew  more  and  more  disturbed  ;  he  cast 
uneasy  glances  at  the  play,  made  a  half-movement  to  rise, 
and  checked  himself.  As  the  play  went  on,  Hamlet 
could  scarcely  control  his  excitement.     The  players  were 

311 


Hamlet 

now  reciting  the  speeches  he  had  written  ;  the  young 
Prince  muttered  the  words  with  them  in  a  rapid  under- 
tone. When  one  of  the  characters  poured  the  poison 
into  the  player  King's  ear,  Hamlet  burst  out  again  into 
fierce  speech,  his  voice  rising  shriller  and  higher. 

"  He  poisons  him  in  the  garden  for  his  estate.  His 
name's  Gonzago.  The  story  is  extant,  and  written  in 
very  choice  Italian.  You  shall  see  anon  how  the  murderer 
gets  the  love  of  Gonzago's  wife." 

Hamlet,  in  his  excitement,  had  dragged  himself  across 
the  floor  till  he  was  at  the  foot  of  the  throne.  The  King, 
seeing  the  mimic  representation  of  his  own  crime,  started 
up  in  guilty  terror. 

"  The  King  rises  !"  exclaimed  Ophelia. 

"  What  !  Frighted  with  false  fire !"  shouted  Hamlet 
in  bitter  derision,  and  with  a  harsh  cry  of  triumph  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  flung  himself  into  the  throne  which 
the  King  had  left  vacant. 

All  was  now  confusion  ;  the  King  and  Queen  hurriedly 
retired  ;  their  courtiers  thronged  after  them,  and  Hamlet 
and  Horatio  were  left  alone  in  the  deserted  hall.  Hamlet 
broke  mto  a  wild  snatch  of  song  : 

"  Why,  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 
The  hart  ungalled  play  ; 
For  some  must  watch,  while  some  must  sleep, 
So  runs  the  world  away." 

"  O  good  Horatio,   Til  take  the  Ghost's  word   for   a 
thousand  pounds.     Didst  perceive  ?" 
"  Very  well,  my  lord." 
"  Upon  the  talk  of  the  poisoning  ?" 
"  I  did  very  well  note  him." 

312 


^'  The    Mouse-trap  " 

It  was  not  likely  that  Hamlet's  behaviour  would  be  let 
pass  without  remark,  and  presently  the  two  obsequious 
courtiers,  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern,  came  to  summon 
him  to  the  presence  of  the  Queen.  They  brought 
word  that  the  King  was  in  his  own  room,  marvellously 
apset  with  rage,  and  that  the  Queen,  in  great  affliction 
of  spirit,  had  sent  them  to  say  to  Hamlet  that  his  behaviour 
had  struck  her  into  amazement  and  astonishment,  and 
that  she  desired  to  speak  with  him  in  her  room  before 
he  went  to  bed. 

Hamlet  replied  he  would  obey,  but  on  Rosencrantz  and 
Guildenstern' s  further  attempting  to  discover  from  him 
the  cause  of  his  strange  behaviour,  he  retorted  by  asking 
the  two  young  men  what  they  meant  by  treating  him  in 
the  way  they  did,  which  was  as  if  they  were  trying  to 
drive  him  into  some  snare. 

"  O  my  lord,  if  my  duty  be  too  bold,  my  love  is  too 
unmannerly,"  answered  Guildenste 

"  I  do  not  well  understand  that,"  said  Hamlet  ;  and 
it  may  be  doubted  if  the  speaker  himself  knew  what  he 
meant  by  his  silly  words. 

But  the  young  Prince  determined  to  give  the  couple  a 
iesson,  and  show  them  he  was  not  quite  the  witless 
creature  they  seemed  to  imagine.  A  few  minutes  before 
he  had  called  for  music,  and  ordered  some  recorders  to  be 
brought.  The  recorder  was  a  small  musical  instrument 
something  like  a  flute.  On  the  attendant's  bringing  them, 
Hamlet  took  one  and  held  it  out  to  Guildenstern. 

"  Will  you  play  upon  this  pipe  ?"  he  asked  him 
courteously. 

"  My  lord,  I  cannot." 

313 


Hamlet 

"  I  pray  you,"  he  begged. 

"  Believe  me,  I  cannot." 

"  I  do  beseech  you." 

"  I  know  no  touch  of  it,  my  lord." 

"  'Tis  as  easy  as  lying,"  said  Hamlet.  "  Govern  these 
holes  with  your  finger  and  thumb,  give  it  breath  with 
your  mouth,  and  it  will  discourse  most  eloquent  music. 
Look  you,  these  are  the  stops." 

"  But  these  cannot  I  command  to  any  utterance  of 
harmony  ;  I  have  not  the  skill,"  declared  Guildenstern. 

"  Why,  look  you,  how  unworthy  a  thing  you  would 
make  of  me  !"  said  Hamlet,  his  persuasive  voice  changing 
to  sudden  sternness.  "  You  would  play  upon  me  ;  you 
would  seem  to  know  my  stops  ;  you  would  pluck  out  the 
heart  of  my  mystery ;  you  would  sound  me  from  my 
lowest  note  to  the  top  of  my  compass  ;  and  there  is  much 
music,  excellent  voice  in  this  little  organ,  yet  you  cannot 
make  it  speak.  Do  you  think  I  am  easier  to  be  played  on 
than  a  pipe  ? — Call  me  what  instrument  you  will,  though 
you  can  fret  me,  yet  you  cannot  play  upon  me." 

The  pipe  snapped  in  his  slender  fingers,  as  he  tossed 
it  contemptuously  away,  and  the  two  young  men  stood 
crestfallen  and  abashed  before  his  noble  scorn. 

It  was  no  repentant  and  shamefaced  son  that  entered 
the  Queen's  room  that  night.  Hamlet  had  steeled  his 
heart  to  do  what  he  considered  his  duty,  and  tell  his 
mother  the  truth.  He  would  speak  daggers,  though  he 
used  none  ;  he  would  reveal  to  her  the  true  character 
of  the  man  she  had  taken  for  her  second  husband.  When, 
therefore,    the    Queen,    in    accordance    with    Polonius's 

314 


a 


The    Mouse-trap 


advice,  began  to  take  him  roundly  to  task  for  his  strange 
behaviour,  he  retorted  in  such  a  strange,  and  even  menac- 
ing, manner  that  she  was  quite  alarmed,  and  shouted  for 
help.     Polonius,  hidden  behind  the  arras,  echoed  her  cry. 


"  How  now  !     A  rat  ?     Dead,  for  a  ducat,  dead  !' 


Hamlet,  thinking  it  was  the  King,  and  that  the  hour  for 
vengeance  had  come,  drew  his  sword. 

"  How  now  !     A  rat  ?     Dead,  for  a  ducat,  dead  !"  he 
exclaimed,  and  made  a  pass  through  the  arras. 

315 


Hamlet 

There  was  a  cry  from  behind,  "  O,  I  am  slain !"  and 
the  fall  of  a  heavy  body. 

"  O  me,  what  hast  thou  done  ?"  exclaimed  the 
Queen. 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  Is  it — the  King  ?"  said  Hamlet,  in 
a  harsh  whisper. 

"Oh,  what  a  rash  and  bloody  deed  is  this  !"  moaned  the 
Queen,  wringing  her  hands  in  dismay. 

"  A  bloody  deed !  Almost  as  bad,  good  mother,  as 
kill  a  King  and  marry  with  his  brother,"  said  Hamlet 
solemnly. 

"  As  kill  a  King  ?"  echoed  the  Queen,  astounded. 

"  Ay,  lady,  it  was  my  word." 

Hamlet  lifted  the  arras,  and  found  that,  after  all,  it  was 
not  the  guilty  murderer  whom  he  had  hoped  to  punish, 
but  the  meddlesome  old  Chamberlain,  who  had  fallen  a 
victim  to  his  sudden  impulse.  His  task  of  vengeance  had 
still  to  be  accomplished. 

"  Thou  wretched,  rash,  intruding  fool,  farewell,"  said 
the  young  Prince,  gazing  at  him  sorrowfully.  "  I  took 
thee  for  thy  better  ;  take  thy  fortune  !  Thou  find'st  to 
be  too  busy  is  some  danger." 

Thus  the  officious  old  man's  prying  ways  met  their 
punishment.  And  Hamlet's  lack  of  resolution,  too, 
brought  its  penalty ;  for  if  he  had  had  strength  of  will 
to  carry  out  what  he  believed  to  be  his  duty,  he  would  not 
have  thus  trusted  to  the  blind  impulse  of  the  moment, 
and  a  comparatively  innocent  life  would  not  have  been 
sacrificed. 

But  he  had  matters  too  important  waiting  to  spare 
much  time  for  regret.     Letting  the  arras  fall  on  the  hence- 

316 


^^The    Mouse-trap 


forth  silent  prattler,  Hamlet  turned  to  his  mother.  In 
the  most  forcible  manner  he  pointed  out  to  the  Queen  how 
blameworthy  had  been  her  conduct.  In  vivid  language 
he  sketched  a  portrait  of  her  two  husbands,  showing  how 
noble  had  been  the  one  brother,  and  how  contemptible  was 
the  other.  What  strange  delusion  could  have  cheated  the 
Queen,  after  knowing  her  first  husband,  to  have  married 
such  a  wretched  being  as  Claudius  ? 

"  O  Hamlet,  speak  no  more !"  implored  the  Queen. 
"  These  words,  like  daggers,  enter  in  mine  ears  ;  no  more, 
sweet  Hamlet." 

"  A  murderer  and  a  villain  !"  continued  Hamlet,  with 
increasing  scorn  and  vehemence  ;  "a  slave  that  is  not 
the  twentieth  part  the  tithe  of  your  former  lord  ;  a 
buffoon  king  ;  a  cutpurse  of  the  empire  and  the  sceptre, 
who  from  the  shelf  the  precious  diadem  stole,  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket  !" 

"  No  more  !"  besought  the  Queen. 

"  A  king  of  shreds  and  patches " 

Hamlet's  torrent  of  wrath  died  on  his  lips.  Before  him 
stood  once  more  the  spirit  of  his  father,  gazing  at  him 
with  calm,  rebuking  eyes. 

"  Save  me,  and  hover  o'er  me  with  your  wings,  you 
heavenly  guards  !"  murmured  the  young  Prince,  in 
an  awestruck  whisper.  "  What  would  your  gracious 
figure  ?" 

The  vision,  apparent  to  Hamlet,  was  not  visible  to  the 
Queen.  She  only  saw  the  sudden  change  that  had  come 
to  her  son,  and  the  rapt  look  on  his  face. 

"  Alas,  he's  mad  !"  she  sighed. 

"  Do  you  not  come  your  tardy  son  to  chide  ?"  continued 

317 


Hamlet 

Hamlet,  still  in  the  same  hushed  voice,  "  who,  lost  in  time 
and  passion,  lets  go  by  the  important  acting  of  thy  dread 
command  ?     Oh,  say  !" 

The  Ghost  replied  that  his  visit  was  indeed  to  whet  his 
son's  almost  blunted  purpose.  But  now  he  bade  Hamlet 
note  how  startled  and  amazed  the  Queen  was,  and  told 
him  to  speak  to  her  and  soothe  her. 

"  How  is  it  with  you,  lady  ?"  said  Hamlet  absently. 

"  Alas  !  how  is  it  with  you  ?"  retorted  the  Queen,  for 
to  her  it  seemed  that  Hamlet  was  looking  at  vacancy,  and 
holding  converse  with  the  empty  air.  "  Whereon  do  you 
look  ?" 

"  On  him — on  him  !  Look  you,  how  pale  he  glares ! 
...  Do  you  see  nothing  there  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all  ;  yet  all  that  is,  I  see." 

"  Nor  did  you  nothing  hear  ?" 

"  No,  nothing  but  ourselves." 

"  Why,  look  you  there  !  Look  how  it  steals  away  ! 
My  father,  in  his  habit  as  he  lived  !  Look  where  he  goes, 
even  now,  out  at  the  portal." 

The  Queen  saw  nothing  of  the  figure  gliding  away,  and 
told  Hamlet  that  it  must  be  the  coinage  of  his  brain,  the 
sort  of  delusion  which  madness  was  very  cunning  in. 

"  Madness  !"  echoed  Hamlet  ;  and  he  bade  his  mother 
note  that  his  pulse  beat  as  calmly  as  her  own,  and  that  it 
was  not  madness  which  he  uttered.  Bring  him  to  the 
test,  he  said,  and  he  would  re-word  the  matter,  which 
madness  could  not  do.  In  short,  his  words  were  so  con- 
vincing that  the  Queen  could  no  longer  refuse  to  believe 
them.  Before  they  parted,  she  promised  to  adopt  a  very 
different   mode   of  behaviour   from  her  usual  pleasure- 

318 


o 

c 

o 
o 

p 


*^  Rosemary    for    Remembrance  " 

loving  frivolity,  and  not  to  allow  herself  to  be  persuaded 
by  the  crafty  Claudius  that  anything  her  son  might  say 
or  do  arose  from  madness. 

"  I  must  to  England ;  you  know  that  ?"  asked  Hamlet. 

"  Alack,  I  had  forgotten  ;  it  is  so  arranged,"  said  the 
Queen. 

"  There  are  letters  sealed,"  said  Hamlet,  "  and  my  two 
schoolfellows,  whom  I  will  trust  as  I  will  adders  fanged 
— they  bear  the  mandate.  Let  the  knavery  work  ;  for 
'tis  sport  to  have  the  engineer  hoist  with  his  own  petard, 
and  it  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  delve  one  yard  below  their 
mines,  and  blow  them  at  the  moon." 


"  Rosemary  for  Remembrance  " 

Hamlet's  suspicions  with  regard  to  fresh  villainy  on 
the  part  of  the  King  were  justified.  Claudius  dared  not 
do  any  harm  to  the  young  Prince  in  his  own  country, 
for  he  was  greatly  beloved  by  the  people.  On  the  plea, 
therefore,  that  it  was  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  he  was 
despatched  to  England,  but  letters  were  given  to  Rosen- 
crantz  and  Guildenstern,  who  accompanied  him,  com- 
manding that  on  his  arrival  the  Prince  should  be  instantly 
beheaded. 

Suspecting  treachery,  Hamlet  managed  to  get  posses- 
sion of  these  letters,  and  in  their  place  he  put  others, 
written  by  himself,  in  which  the  English  Government 
was  begged,  as  a  favour  to  Denmark,  to  put  the  bearers 
to  death.  Thus  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern  fell  victims 
to  their  own  treachery,  and  met  the  fate  to  which  they 
were  shamelessly  conducting  their  old  schoolfellow. 

321  X 


Hamlet 

The  day  after  the  changing  of  the  letters  their  ship  was 
chased  by  pirates.  Finding  they  were  too  slow  of  sail  to 
escape,  they  made  a  valiant  resistance.  In  the  grapple 
Hamlet  boarded  the  pirates'  vessel.  At  that  very  mstant 
the  ships  got  clear,  so  he  alone  became  their  prisoner. 
They  treated  him  well,  knowing  who  he  was,  and  expect- 
ing to  get  a  good  reward,  and  not  long  after  he  had  left 
Denmark  Hamlet  again  set  foot  in  his  own  country. 
He  did  not  at  first  announce  his  return  to  the  King  and 
Queen,  but  sent  a  message  privately  to  Horatio,  who  at 
once  hastened  to  him. 

During  his  absence  from  Denmark  a  sad  thing  had  hap- 
pened. Poor  Ophelia,  overwhelmed  by  all  the  sorrows 
that  had  fallen  on  her,  had  lost  her  reason.  Hamlet's 
strange  behaviour  had  been  the  first  shock,  and  on  her 
father's  sudden  death,  and  Hamlet's  departure  for  Eng- 
land, the  slender  strength  snapped  utterly,  and  the  young 
girl  was  carried  away  in  the  full  flood  of  calamity. 

Ever  sweet  and  gentle,  as  she  had  been  all  her  life, 
Ophelia  was  so  still  ;  there  was  no  violence  or  malice  in 
her  malady.  She  was  indeed  distracted  with  grief,  and 
spoke  strange  words,  but  when  allowed  her  own  way  she 
went  harmlessly  about,  only  decking  herself  with  flowers, 
and  singing  sweet  and  touching  snatches  of  quaint  old  songs. 

The  King  and  Queen  were  deeply  grieved  at  this  new 
misfortune  that  had  fallen  on  their  young  favourite,  for 
the  Queen,  at  least,  loved  her  tenderly.  They  had  also 
grounds  for  uneasiness  concerning  themselves  ;  disquieting 
rumours  began  to  be  current.  Rather  foolishly,  they  had 
tried  to  hush  up  the  cause  of  Polonius's  death,  and  had  had 
him  hurriedly  interred,  without  proper  rites  or  ceremony, 

322 


"Rosemary    for    Remembrance" 

His  son  Laertes  had  come  secretly  from  France,  and  tittle- 
tattlers  were  not  lacking  to  pour  into  his  ears  malicious 
reports  of  his  father's  death.  Finally,  there  was  an  attempt 
at  insurrection.  Laertes  went  to  the  palace,  followed  by  a 
riotous  mob,  shouting,  "  Laertes  shall  be  King  !  Laertes 
King  !"  They  broke  down  the  doors,  overcame  the 
guard,  and  Laertes  forced  his  way  into  the  presence  of 
the  King  and  Queen. 

"  O  thou  vile  King,  give  me  my  father  !"  he  demanded, 
with  menacing  gesture. 

"  Calmly,  good  Laertes,"  implored  the  Queen,  while 
the  King,  with  all  the  subtle  art  in  which  he  was  so  skilled, 
tried  to  soothe  the  infuriated  young  man,  and  asked  him 
why  he  was  so  incensed. 

"  How  came  he  dead  ?  Til  not  be  juggled  with,"  cried 
Laertes  fiercely,  flinging  off  all  semblance  of  allegiance. 
"  Let  come  what  comes,  only  I'll  be  revenged  most 
thoroughly  for  my  father." 

"  Who  shall  stay  you  ?"  asked  the  King  mildly. 

"  My  will,  not  all  the  world  !"  retorted  Laertes  roughly. 
"And  for  my  means,  I'll  husband  them  so  well,  they  shall 
go  far  with  little." 

The  King  was  just  explaining  that  he  was  in  no  sense 
guilty  of  Polonius's  death,  when  there  was  a  stir  at  the 
door,  and  the  next  moment  Ophelia  entered.  At  the 
sight  of  the  beautiful  young  maiden,  in  her  simple  white 
robe,  her  long  yellow  locks  floating  free  on  her  shoulders, 
her  sweet  blue  eyes  opened  wide  in  vacant  gaze,  a  sudden 
check  came  to  the  young  man's  violence. 

"  O  rose  of  May  !  Dear  maid,  kind  sister,  sweet 
Opheha!"    he    murmured,    with   tenderest    pity.     "Oh 

323  X  2 


Hamlet 

heavens  !  is  it  possible  a  young  maid's  wits  should  be  as 
mortal  as  an  old  man's  life  ?" 

Ophelia  carried  flowers  in  her  hand,  and  she  came  in 
singing  and  talking  to  herself. 

"  They  bore  him  barefaced  on  the  bier  ; 
Hey  non  nonny,  nonny,  hey  nonny  ; 
And  in  his  grave  rain'd  many  a  tear : — 

"  Fare  you  well,  my  dove." 

"  Hadst  thou  thy  wits,  and  didst  persuade  revenge,  it 
could  not  move  thus,"  said  Laertes. 

Ophelia  now  began  to  distribute  the  flowers  she  held  in 
her  hand.     First  she  gave  some  to  her  brother. 

"  There's  rosemary,  that's  for  remembrance  ;  pray,  love, 
remember.     And  there  is  pansies,  that's  for  thoughts." 

"A  document  in  madness,  thoughts  and  remembrance 
fitted,"  said  Laertes. 

"  There's  fennel  for  you,  and  columbines,"  said  Opheha 
to  the  King,  (fennel  is  an  emblem  of  flattery,  and  colum- 
bines of  thanklessness) .  "There's  rue  for  you,"  to  the 
Queen,  "  and  here's  some  for  me  ;  we  may  call  it  herb  of 
grace  on  Sundays.  O,  you  must  wear  your  rue  with  a 
difference.  There's  a  daisy ;  I  would  give  you  some 
violets,  but  they  withered  all  when  my  father  died  ;  they 
say  he  made  a  good  end, — 

For  bonny  sweet  Robin  is  all  my  joy." 

"  Thought  and  affliction,  passion,  hell  itself,  she  turns 
to  favour  and  to  prettiness,"  said  Laertes,  as  smiling,  and 
kissing  her  hand,  the  poor  wit-bereft  maiden  went  singing 
on  her  way. 

His  desire  for  vengeance  was  redoubled,   and  he  re- 

324 


^'Rosemary    for    Remembrance" 

solved  that  his  sister's  madness  should  be  dearly  paid  for. 
He  therefore  lent  a  ready  ear  when  the  King  declared  that 
the  blame  of  everything  that  had  happened  was  due  to 
Hamlet,  explaining  that  he  had  been  unable  to  punish  him 
up  to  the  present,  owing  to  the  intense  love  borne  him  by 
his  mother,  and  all  the  people.  Even  as  they  were  talking 
arrived  a  letter  from  Hamlet  himself  ;  it  ran  thus  : 

"High  and  Mighty, 

"  You  shall  know  I  am  set  naked  on  your  kingdom. 
To-morrow  shall  I  beg  leave  to  see  your  kingly  eyes  : 
when  I  shall,  first  asking  your  pardon  thereunto,  recount 
the  occasion  of  my  sudden  and  more  strange  return. 

"  Hamlet." 

Hamlet's  return  happened  most  aptly,  and  the  King 
immediately  suggested  a  plan  whereby  Laertes  could 
gratify  his  vengeance  without  fear  of  being  found  out. 
While  Laertes  had  been  in  France,  he  had  been  greatly 
talked  about  for  his  skill  in  fencing,  and  a  Norman 
gentleman  who  had  come  to  the  Danish  Court  brought  a 
marvellous  report  of  his  prowess  in  the  use  of  the  rapier. 
This  account  filled  Hamlet  with  envy  ;  he  was  himself 
a  master  in  the  art  of  fencing,  and  he  longed  for  Laertes 
to  come  back  and  try  a  match  with  him.  The  King  now 
proposed  that  Laertes  should  challenge  Hamlet  to  a  trial 
of  skill. 

"  He,  being  heedless,  most  generous  and  free  from  all 
contriving,  will  not  look  closely  at  the  foils,"  continued 
the  King  cunningly,  "  so  that  with  ease,  or  with  a  little 
shuffling,  you  may  choose  a  sword  unbated,  and  in  a  pass 
of  practice  requite  him  for  your  father." 

325 


Hamlet 

Laertes  not  only  consented  to  this  dastardly  scheme,— 
he  went  a  step  further,  and  declared  that  he  would  anoint 
the  point  of  the  rapier  with  some  poison  so  mortal  that 
no  remedy  in  all  the  world  could  save  from  death  the  thing 
that  was  but  scratched  with  it.  He  would  touch  the  point 
of  this  sword  with  this  poison,  so  that  if  he  wounded 
Hamlet  ever  so  slightly  it  would  be  death.  In  addition 
to  this,  in  case  Hamlet  should  escape  unhurt  from  the 
fencing,  the  King  said  he  would  have  a  chalice  near 
with  poisoned  wine,  so  that  if  he  grew  thirsty,  and 
called  for  drink,  he  would  meet  his  death  in  that 
manner. 

Their  further  plotting  was  interrupted  by  the  Queen, 
who  came  hurrying  in  with  further  tidings  of  woe.  Opheha 
was  drowned. 

"  Drowned  !     Oh,  where  ?"  cried  Laertes. 

"  There  is  a  willow  grows  aslant  a  brook  that  shows  his 
hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream,"  began  the  Queen  ;  and 
she  told  how  Ophelia,  having  woven  many  fantastic 
garlands  of  wild  flowers,  had  clambered  into  this  tree,  to 
hang  her  wreaths  on  the  drooping  boughs,  when  a  branch 
broke,  and  Ophelia  and  her  trophies  fell  into  the  brook. 
There  for  awhile  her  clothes  bore  her  up,  and  she  floated 
down  the  current,  still  singing  snatches  of  old  tunes  ;  but 
before  she  could  be  rescued,  the  weight  of  her  garments, 
heavy  with  the  water,  dragged  her  down  to  death. 

Laertes  could  not  restrain  his  tears  when  he  heard  of  the 
loss  of  his  dear  sister,  but  the  King  guessed  that  his  rage 
would  soon  start  up  with  fresh  fury,  and  he  resolved  not 
to  lose  sight  of  the  young  m^an  till  his  scheme  of  vengeance 
was  accomplished. 

326 


The    King's    Wager 

The  King's  Wager 

In  the  churchyard  at  Elsinore  two  men  were  digging  a 
grave.  As  they  worked  they  talked,  and  the  elder  one 
expounded  the  law  to  his  young  assistant.  The  former 
asked  if  the  person  for  whom  they  were  digging  the  grave 
was  to  be  buried  in  Christian  burial. 

"  I  tell  thee  she  is,"  said  the  second  man,  "  and  there- 
fore make  her  grave  straight  ;  the  crowner  hath  sat  on  her, 
and  finds  it  Christian  burial." 

"  How  can  that  be,  unless  she  drowned  herself  in  her 
own  defence  ?"  argued  the  first  grave-digger. 

"  Why,  'tis  found  so,"  answered  the  second. 

"  Here  lies  the  point,"  persisted  the  first,  who  dearly 
loved  an  argument.  "  Ii  I  drown  myself  wittingly,  it 
argues  an  act,  and  an  act  hath  three  branches — it  is  to 
act,  to  do,  and  to  perform ;  argal,  she  drowned  herself 
unwittingly." 

"  Nay,  but  hear  you,  good  man  delver " 

"  Give  me  leave,"  interposed  the  other,  with  his  air  of 
superiority.  "  Here  lies  the  water — good  ;  here  stands 
the  man — good  ;  if  the  man  go  to  this  water  and  drown 
himself,  it  is,  will  he,  nill  he,  he  goes — mark  you  that.  But 
if  the  water  come  to  him  and  drown  him,  he  drowns  not 
himself  ;  argal,  he  that  is  not  guilty  of  his  own  death 
shortens  not  his  own  life." 

"  But  is  this  law  ?"  asked  the  second  rustic,  rubbing 
his  bewildered  pate. 

"  Ay,  marry,  is  it  ;  crowner's  quest  law,"  returned  the 
other  decisively. 

Having   sufficiently   impressed   his   companion   by   his 

3^^7 


Hamlet 

display  of  superior  knowledge,  the  first  grave-digger 
despatched  him  for  "  a  stoup  of  liquor,"  and  continued  his 
toil  alone,  singing  to  himself  as  he  did  so. 

Two  new-comers  had  in  the  meanwhile  entered  the 
churchyard.  These  were  Hamlet  and  Horatio.  Hamlet 
was  struck  by  the  utter  insensibility  of  the  man,  who 
callously  pursued  his  mournful  task,  and  shovelled  earth 
and  human  bones  alike  aside  with  the  most  complete 
indifference.  To  Hamlet  the  sight  of  these  poor  human 
remains  awakened  many  reflections,  and,  in  his  usual 
fashion,  he  began  to  ponder  over  them,  and  speculate 
what  had  formerly  been  the  destiny — possibly  a  brilliant 
and  distinguished  one — of  the  skulls  which  were  now 
knocked  about  so  disrespectfully.  Presently  he  spoke  to 
the  man,  and  asked  whose  grave  he  was  digging,  and 
with  the  exercise  of  much  patient  good-humour  was  at 
last  able  to  extract  the  information  that  it  was  for  "  one 
that  was  a  woman,  but,  rest  her  soul,  she's  dead." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  a  grave-digger  ?"  was  his 
next  question. 

"  Of  all  the  days  in  the  year,  I  came  to  it  that  day  that 
our  last  King  Hamlet  overcame  Fortinbras." 

"  How  long  is  that  since  ?" 

"  Cannot  you  tell  that  ?  Every  fool  can  tell  that," 
was  the  civil  answer.  "  It  was  the  very  day  young 
Hamlet  was  born — he  that  is  mad,  and  sent  into 
England." 

"  Ay,  marry,  why  was  he  sent  into  England  ?"  inquired 
Hamlet. 

"  Why,  because  he  was  mad  ;  he  shall  recover  his  wits 
there  ;  or  if  he  do  not,  it's  no  great  matter  there." 

328 


The    King^s    Wager 

"  Why  ?" 

"  It  will  not  be  seen  in  him  there  ,  there  the  men  are  as 
mad  as  he." 

"  How  came  he  mad  ?" 

"  Very  strangely,  they  say." 

"  How  '  strangely  '  ?" 

"  Faith,  e'en  with  losing  his  wits." 

"  Upon  what  ground  ?" 

"  Why,  here  in  Denmark,"  said  the  rustic,  misunder- 
standing the  question.  "  I  have  been  sexton  here,  man 
and  boy,  thirty  years." 

He  next  threw  up  with  his  spade  a  skull,  which  he  said 
had  been  that  of  Yorick,  the  King's  jester. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Hamlet,  taking  it  gently  into  his 
hands.  "  Alas,  poor  Yorick  !  I  knew  him,  Horatio — 
a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy  :  he  hath 
borne  me  on  his  back  a  thousand  times.  Here  hung  the 
lips  that  I  have  kissed  I  know  not  how  oft.  Where  be 
your  jibes  now  ?  your  gambols  ?  your  songs  ?  your 
flashes  of  merriment  that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on 
a  roar  ?  Not  one  now  to  mock  your  own  grinning  ? 
quite  chap-fallen  ?  Now  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber, 
and  tell  her,  let  her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  favour 
she  must  come  ;  make  her  laugh  at  that." 

Hamlet's  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  the  funeral  procession,  which  now  entered  the  church- 
yard. After  the  bier  walked  Laertes,  as  chief  mourner, 
and  the  King  and  Queen  followed,  with  their  attendants. 
Hamlet  and  Horatio,  who  had  retired  on  the  approach  of 
the  mourners,  did  not  at  first  know  who  was  about  to  be 
buried,  but  when  the  bier  was  lowered  into  the  grave. 


Hamlet 

Hamlet  knew  from  the  words  spoken  by  Laertes  that  it 
was  no  other  than  the  fair  Opheha. 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet :  farewell !"  said  the  Queen, 
scattering  flowers.  "  I  hoped  thou  shouldst  have  been 
my  Hamlet's  wife  ;  I  thought  thy  bride-bed  to  have 
decked,  sweet  maid,  and  not  have  strewed  thy  grave." 

"  Hold  off  the  earth  awhile,  till  I  have  caught  her  once 
more  in  my  arms,"  cried  Laertes ;  and,  leaping  into  the 
grave,  he  shouted  wildly  to  them  to  pile  their  dust  on  the 
living  and  the  dead. 

"  What  is  he  whose  grief  bears  such  an  emphasis  ?" 
cried  Hamlet,  coming  forward.  "  This  is  I,  Hamlet  the 
Dane."     And  he,  too,  leaped  into  the  grave. 

At  the  sight  of  the  young  Prince,  all  Laertes's  wrath 
blazed  up  in  full  fury.  He  sprang  on  him,  and  grappled 
with  him,  almost  throttling  him.  Hamlet,  thus  attacked, 
bade  Laertes  hold  off  his  hand,  for  though  not  hot-tem- 
pered and  rash,  yet  he  had  something  dangerous  in  him 
which  it  would  be  wise  to  fear.  The  attendants  parted 
the  incensed  young  men,  and  they  came  out  of  the  grave, 
but  they  still  regarded  each  other  with  looks  of  defiance. 

"  Why,  I  will  fight  with  him  upon  this  theme,  until  my 
eyelids  will  no  longer  wag,"  said  Hamlet. 

"  O  my  son,  what  theme  ?"  asked  the  Queen. 

"  I  loved  Ophelia,"  said  Hamlet  ;  "  forty  thousand 
brothers  could  not,  with  all  their  quantity  of  love,  make 
up  my  sum." 

In  Laertes's  own  style  of  exaggeration,  Hamlet  hurled 
forth  a  fiery  challenge,  and  then,  with  sudden  self-contempt, 
he  ended  in  half-sad  irony  : 

"  Nay,  an  thou'lt  mouth,  I'll  rant  as  well  as  thou." 

330 


The    King's    Wager 

The  next  day  Hamlet  and  Horatio  were  walking  in  the 
hall  of  the  castle,  when  a  very  elegant  and  affected  young 
Danish  nobleman  approached,  and,  with  many  bows  and 
flourishes,  delivered  his  message,  which  was  a  challenge 
from  Laertes  to  a  fencing  match.  The  King  had  laid 
a  heavy  wager  on  Hamlet — six  Barbary  horses  against 
six  French  rapiers  and  poniards,  that  in  a  dozen  passes 
Laertes  would  not  exceed  Hamlet  three  hits. 

"  Sir,  I  will  walk  here  in  the  hall,"  answered  Hamlet  ; 
"  if  it  please  his  Majesty,  it  is  the  breathing-time  of  day 
with  me.  Let  the  foils  be  brought,  the  gentleman  willing  ; 
if  the  King  hold  his  purpose,  I  will  win  for  him  if  I  can  ;  if 
not,  I  will  gain  nothing  but  my  shame  and  the  odd  hits." 

"  You  will  lose  this  wager,  my  lord,"  said  Horatio, 
when  young  Osric,  with  a  final  sweeping  bow  of  his 
plumed  cap,  had  retired. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Hamlet.  "  Since  he  went  into 
France  I  have  been  in  continual  practice.  I  shall  win 
at  the  odds. — But  thou  wouldst  not  think  how  ill  all's 
here  about  my  heart  ;  but  it  is  no  matter." 

"  Nay,  good  my  lord " 

"  It  is  but  foolery ;  but  it  is  such  a  kind  of  gain-giving 
as  would  perhaps  trouble  a  woman." 

"If  your  mind  dislike  anything,  obey  it.  I  will  go  and 
tell  them  you  are  not  fit." 

"  Not  a  whit  ;  we  defy  augury.  There  is  special  pro- 
vidence in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow.  If  it  be  now,  'tis  not  to 
come  ;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  will  be  now  ;  if  it  be  not 
now,  yet  it  will  come  ;  the  readiness  is  all  :  since  no  man 
has  aught  of  what  he  leaves,  what  is  it  to  leave  betimes  ? 
Let  be." 

331 


Hamlet 

Now  entered  the  King  and  Queen,  Laertes,  Osric, 
and  other  lords  ;  attendants  with  foils  and  gauntlets  : 
and  servants  carrying  a  table  with  flagons  of  wine  on  it. 

"  Come,  Hamlet,  come,  and  take  this  hand  from  me,'' 
said  the  King,  putting  Laertes's  hand  into  Hamlet's. 

With  his  customary  sweetness  of  disposition,  Hamlet 
courteously  apologised  to  Laertes  for  any  wrong  he  might 
have  done  him,  saying  that  it  was  only  due  to  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment.  Laertes  accepted  his  offered  friend- 
ship, but  with  little  grace.  Then  the  foils  were  brought, 
and  while  Hamlet,  utterly  unsuspicious,  made  his  choice, 
Laertes,  with  some  shuffling,  managed  to  secure  the  foil  he 
wanted,  with  the  button  off,  and  anointed  its  poinf  with 
venom. 

The  King  ordered  the  goblets  of  wine  to  be  set  in  readi- 
ness, and  commanded  that  if  Hamlet  gave  the  first  or 
second  hit  a  salute  should  be  fired  from  the  guns  on  the 
battlements.  Then,  with  hypocritical  friendliness,  he 
pretended,  in  honour  of  Hamlet,  to  drop  a  pearl  of  great 
value  into  the  goblet,  but  it  was  in  reality  some  deadly 
poison. 

At  first  the  fencers  seemed  pretty  evenly  matched,  but 
Hamlet  secured  the  first  hit.  The  King  drank  to  his 
health,  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  cannon. were  fired 
outside.  The  King  sent  a  little  page  with  the  cup  of  wine 
to  Hamlet,  but  the  Prince  said  he  would  play  the  next 
bout  first,  and  bade  the  boy  set  it  by  awhile.  Again  they 
played. 

"  Another  hit  !  What  say  you  ?"  Hamlet  appealed  to 
the  judges. 

"  A  touch,  a  touch,  I  do  confess,"  agreed  Laertes. 

332 


The    King's    Wager 

*'  Our  son  shall  win,"  said  the  deceitful  King. 

"  The  Queen  carouses  to  thy  fortune,  Hamlet,"  said  his 
mother. 

"  Gertrude,  do  not  drink,"  said  the  King,  but  it  was  too 
late  ;  before  Claudius  could  prevent  her,  she  he^d  lifted  to 
her  lips  the  cup  of  poisoned  wine,  which  the  little  page 
had  placed  on  a  table  beside  her. 

The  third  bout  of  fencing  began,  and  this  time  it  was 
more  vigorous  than  before,  for  Hamlet  reproached  Laertes 
for  not  putting  forth  his  full  powers.  A  feeling  of  shame 
had  doubtless  hitherto  restrained  Laertes,  and  he  felt  that 
what  he  was  going  to  do  was  almost  against  his  conscience. 
Nevertheless,  he  now  thrust  in  good  earnest.  He  wounded 
Hamlet,  but  in  the  scuffle  his  rapier  flew  out  of  his  hand. 
Hamlet  tossed  his  own  weapon  to  Laertes,  and  picked  up 
the  poisoned  one  which  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  The 
struggle  was  resumed,  and  this  time  Hamlet  wounded 
Laertes.     The  match  begun  in  play  was  becoming  serious. 

"  Part  them  ;  they  are  incensed  !"  cried  the  King. 
'  Nay,  come  again,"  said  Hamlet. 

"  Look  to  the  Queen  there,  ho !"  called  out  Osric,  for 
at  that  moment  she  fell  back,  half  unconscious. 

"  They  bleed  on  both  sides.  How  is  it,  my  lord  ?" 
asked  Horatio  of  Hamlet. 

"  How  is  it,  Laertes  ?"  asked  Osric. 

"  Why,  as  a  woodcock  to  mine  own  springe,  Osric  ;  I 
am  justly  punished  with  mine  own  treachery." 

"  How  does  the  Queen  ?"  asked  Hamlet. 

"  She  swoons  to  see  them  bleed,"  said  the  King, 
anxious  to  cover  up  the  cause  of  her  death. 

"  No,  no,  the  drink,  the  drink  !"  gasped  the   Queen, 

333 


Hamlet 

^'  O  my  dear  Hamlet — the  drink,  the  drink  !  I  am 
poisoned  !" 

"0,  villainy  !  Ho  !  let  the  door  be  locked  !  Treachery  ! 
Seek  it  out,"  cried  Hamlet. 

Laertes,  on  the  point  of  death,  confessed  the  whole 
plot,  and  Hamlet,  stung  at  last  to  vengeance,  stabbed  the 
wicked  King  with  Laertes's  poisoned  weapon,  which  he 
held  in  his  hand. 

"He  is  justly  served,"  said  Laertes.  "Exchange 
forgiveness  with  me,  noble  Hamlet.  Mine  and  my 
father's  death  come  not  upon  thee,  nor  thine  on  me." 

"  Heaven  make  thee  free  of  it  !"  said  Hamlet,  as  the 
voung  man  fell  back  motionless.  "  I  follow  thee.  I  am 
dead,  Horatio.     Wretched  Queen,  adieu  !" 

Horatio,  feehng  that  he  no  longer  cared  to  live,  seized 
the  cup,  and  would  ha\'e  drunk  off  what  was  left  of  the 
poisoned  wine,  but  with  a  last  effort  of  failing  strength, 
Hamlet  wrenched  the  cup  out  of  his  hands,  and  dashed 
it  to  the  ground. 

Far  off  in  the  distance  was  heard  the  music  of  a  trium- 
phant march,  and  learning  that  it  was  the  youthful 
Fortinbras,  returning  with  conquest  from  Poland,  Hamlet 
prophesied  that  he  would  be  elected  as  the  new  King, 
and  gave  his  dying  voice  for  him  as  his  successor.  Then 
murmuring,  "  The  rest  is  silence,"  the  young  Prince  sank 
qm'etly  back,  with  a  smile  of  unearthly  radiance  on  hi.^j 
face,  and  at  last  the  storm-tossed  spirit  was  at  peace. 

"  Now  cracks  a  noble  heart,"  said  Horatio  in  loving 
farewell.  "  Good-night,  sweet  Prince  ;  and  flights  oi 
angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest !" 


334 


The  Dowerless  Daughter 

ONG  ago  in  Britain  there  lived  a  certain 
King  called  Lear,  who  had  three 
daughters — Goneril,  Regan,  and  Cor- 
delia. The  King  dearly  loved  all  his 
daughters,  but  in  especial  the  youngest 
one,  Cordeha.  His  eldest  daughter, 
Goneril,  was  married  to  the  Duke  of  Albany  ;  Regan  was 
married  to  the  Duke  of  Cornwall  ;  and  the  Princes  of 
France  and  Burgundy  were  rival  suitors  for  the  hand  of 
Cordelia. 

When  King  Lear  grew  old,   wishing  to  shake  off  all 
cares  and  business,   he  decided  to  divide  his  kingdom 

335 


King    Lear 

among  his  children,  leaving  the  largest  portion  to  the  one 
who  loved  him  the  most.  He  therefore  bade  each  one 
in  turn  say  how  much  she  Ic  ved  him,  and  he  hoped,  and 
fully  expected,  that  his  favourite,  Cordelia,  would  prove 
that  her  affection  was  the  greatest. 

Goneri],  the  eldest,  was  told  to  speak  first.  She  at  once 
replied,  with  great  glibness,  that  she  loved  her  father 
more  than  words  could  express — dearer  than  eyesight, 
space,  and  liberty  ;  beyond  what  could  be  valued,  rich 
or  rare  ;  no  less  than  life,  with  grace,  health,  beauty, 
honour  ;  as  much  as  child  ever  loved  ;  a  love  that  made 
breath  poor,  and  speech  powerless  ;  beyond  all  manner 
of  so  much,  she  loved  him. 

Cordelia,  hearing  this  fluent  harangue,  was  quite  as- 
tounded, for  she  knew  her  sister's  cold  and  heardess 
nature.  "  What  shall  Cordelia  do  ?  Love  and  be  silent," 
she  said  to  herself,  for  she  did  not  choose  to  compete  with 
loud  and  empty  protestations  of  this  kind. 

King  Lear,  however,  was  greatly  pleased,  and  awarded 
to  his  son-in-law  Albany,  as  Goneril's  dowry,  an  ample 
third  of  his  kingdom.  Then  came  Regan's  turn.  She 
declared  that  everything  her  sister  had  said  she  felt 
exactly  in  the  same  manner,  only  in  a  larger  .measure  ; 
and  she  professed  that  she  was  an  enemy  to  every  jo}^^ 
excepting  her  father's  love.  Lear  thereupon  awarded 
her  another  third  of  his  kingdom,  equal  in  size  to  Goneril's. 

Lastly  he  turned  to  Cordelia,  and  asked  her  what  she 
could  say  to  win  a  third  portion  of  his  possessions,  richer 
than  her  sisters'. 

Cordelia,  disgusted  at  their  false  hypocrisy,  answereu 
simply  :.    , 

336 


The    Dowerless    Daughter 

"  Nothing." 

"  Nothing  !"  echoed  Lear. 

"  Nothing,"  repeated  CordeUa. 

"  Nothing  will  come  of  nothing.  Speak  again,"  com- 
manded the  frowning  King. 

Cordelia  answered  quietly  that  she  loved  her  father 
as  a  child  ought  to  do — she  obeyed,  honoured,  and  loved 
him  as  a  father.  If  her  sisters  pretended  that  he  was 
everything  in  the  world  to  them,  why  had  they  husbands  ? 
Haply,  when  she  herself  wedded,  half  her  love  and  duty 
would  go  to  her  husband  ;  she  would  never  marry  if,  like 
her  sisters,  all  her  love  was  still  to  remain  with  her  father. 

"  Goes  thy  heart  with  this  ?"  asked  Lear. 

"  Ay,  good  my  lord,"  said  Cordelia. 

"  So  young  and  so  untender  ?" 

"  So  young,  my  lord,  and  true,"  was  the  steadfast 
answer. 

"  Let  it  be  so  ;  thy  truth,  then,  be  thy  dower,"  cried 
Lear,  his  rage  bursting  forth  in  full  fury. 

Always  rash  and  headstrong,  even  in  his  best  days, 
old  age  and  infirmities  had  rendered  him  still  more  unrul}i 
and  wayward,  and  his  fits  of  unreasoning  anger  were  often 
beyond  control.  In  the  most  violent  language,  he  now 
denounced  Cordelia,  utterly  disowning  her  as  a  daughter, 
and  ordering  her  out  of  his  sight.  He  sent  to  summon 
the  two  Princes  who  had  made  application  for  her  hand, 
and  in  the  meanwhile  divided  the  remaining  portion  of  his 
kingdom  between  Albany  and  Cornwall,  investing  them 
jointly  with  all  the  powers  of  majesty,  and  declaring  that 
his  youngest  daughter's  pride,  which  she  called  candour, 
should  be  her  only  dower.     King  Lear  reserved  to  himself 

337  V 


King    Lear 


a  hundred  knights,  and  retained  the  name  and  dignity  of 
a  King ;  but  everything  else — the  sway,  the  revenue,  and 
the  government — he  said  should  belong  to  his  sons-in-law. 
And  to  confirm  this,  he  took  off  his  crown,  and  handed  it 
to  them  to  divide  between  them. 

At  this  flagrant  injustice  of  the  old  King,  an  honest 
and  loyal  courtier,  the  Earl  of  Kent,  ventured  to  re- 
monstrate, and,  braving  his  master's  anger,  he  pointed 
out  the  rash  folly  of  what  he  was  doing,  and  begged  him 
to  reverse  his  doom.  He  declared  boldly  that  he  would 
answer  for  it,  on  his  life  if  necessary,  that  Cordelia  did 
not  love  her  father  the  least  of  his  children. 

"  Kent,  on  thy  life,  no  more  !"  threatened  the  King. 

"  My  life  I  never  held  but  as  a  pawn  to  wage  against  thy 
enemies,"  returned  Kent  fearlessly  ;  "  nor  fear  to  lose  it, 
thy  safety  being  the  motive.' 

The  King,  deeply  incensed,  ordered  Kent  immediately 
to  quit  the  kingdom  ;  five  days  were  allowed  for  making 
preparations  ;  on  the  sixth  he  w^as  to  depart.  If  on  the 
tenth  day  following  he  were  found  in  the  dominions,  that 
moment  would  be  his  death. 

Nothing  daunted,  the  gallant  nobleman  bade  farewell 
to  the  King,  and,  turning  to  Cordelia,  he  gave  her  a  tender 
word  of  blessing. 

"  The  gods  to  their  dear  shelter  take  thee,  maid,  that 
justly  think'st,  and  hast  most  rightly  said  !" 

As  for  Goneril  and  Regan,  he  hoped  that  their  lavish 
speeches  would  be  approved  by  their  deeds,  so  that  good 
effects  might  spring  from  words  of  love.  And  so  the 
faithful  courtier  was  driven  away  in  mad  folly  by  the 
master  whom  hz  had  served  so  loyally. 

338 


The    Dowerless    Daughter 


The  Princes  of  France  and  Burgundy,  who  had  been 
summoned,  now  made  their  appearance.  King  Lear  first 
addressed  Burgundy,  asking  him  what  dowry  he  required 
with  his  youngest  daughter.  Burgundy  repHed  that  he 
craved  no  more  than  what  King  Lear  had  already  offered 
with  her,  and  he  supposed  King 
Lear  would  not  tender  less. 

Lear  replied  that  when  Cor- 
delia was  dear  to  him  he  held 
her  at  that  value,  but  now  her 
price  was  fallen.  If  Burgundy 
liked  to  take  her,  just  as  she 
was,  with  only  the  King's  dis- 
pleasure added,  she  was  his 

"  There  she  stands.  Take 
her  or  leave  her,"  he  ended 
curtly. 

Burgundy  was  not  inclined 
to  take  Cordelia  on  these  terms, 
and  tried  civilly  to  express  his 
refusal.  Lear  then  turned  to 
the  King  of  France,  but  to 
him  he  said  he  would  not  do 
him  so  much  wrong  as  to  offer 
him  a  thing  which  Lear  him- 
self hated — a  wretch  whom  nature  was  almost  ashamed 
to  acknowledge  as  hers. 

The  King  of  France  replied  that  it  was  very  strange  that 
she  who  had  been  the  object  of  Lear's  praise,  the  comfort 
of  his  age — his  best,  his  dearest — should  in  a  trice  of 
time  so  absolutely  forfeit  his  favour.     Surely  she  must 

339  Y  2 


There  she  stands 


King    Lear 


have  committed  some  terrible  offence  to  lose  his  affection, 
and  this,  without  a  miracle,  he  would  never  believe  of  her. 

The  King's  manly  and  chivalrous  words  fell  like  balm 
on  the  poor  young  girl's  wounded  heart,  and  she  begged 
her  father  to  tell  him  that  it  was  no  base  or  unworthy 
action  on  her  part  that  had  deprived  her  of  his  grace  and 
favour,  but  only  the  want  of  a  glib  tongue  and  an  ever- 
avaricious  eye. 

"  Better  thou  hadst  not  been  born  than  not  to  have 
pleased  me  better,"  was  Lear's  resentful  answer  to  this 
appeal. 

"  My  lord  of  Burgundy,  v^hat  say  you  to  the  lady  ?" 
said  France.  "  Love's  not  love  when  it  is  mixed  with 
considerations  that  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  main 
point.     Will  you  have  her  ?     She  is  herself  a  dowry." 

"  Royal  Lear,  give  but  that  portion  which  you  yourself 
proposed,  and  here  I  take  Cordelia  by  the  hand.  Duchess 
of  Burgundy." 

"  Nothing  ;  I  have  sworn  ;  I  am  firm,"  said  the  old 
King  obstinately. 

"  I  am  sorry,  then,  you  have  so  lost  a  father  that  you 
must  lose  a  husband,"  said  Burgundy  to  Cordelia. 

"  Peace  be  with  Burgundy  !"  said  Cordeha  with  dignity. 
"  Since  respects  of  fortune  are  his  love,  I  shall  not  be  his 
wife." 

The  King  of  France  stepped  forward  and  took  the 
maiden  by  the  hand. 

"  Fairest  Cordelia,  that  art  most  rich,  being  poor ; 
most  choice,  forsaken  ;  and  most  loved,  despised  !  Thee 
and  thy  virtues  here  I  seize  upon  ;  if  it  be  lawful,  I  take 
up  what's   cast   away.     Thy  dowerless   daughter.   King, 

340 


The    Dowerless    Daughter 

thrown  to  me  by  hazard,  is  Queen  of  us,  of  ours,  and  of 
our  France  ;  not  all  the  Dukes  of  watery  Burgundy  can 
buy  this  unprized,  precious  maid  of  me.  Bid  them  fare- 
well, Cordelia,  though  unkind  ;  thou  losest  here,  a  better 
home  to  find." 

"  Thou  hast  her,  France  ;  let  her  be  thine,"  said  Lear, 
"  for  I  have  no  such  daughter,  nor  shall  ever  see  that  face 
of  hers  again.  Therefore  be  gone  without  my  grace,  my 
love,  my  blessing." 

And  the  offended  old  King  swept  away  with  his  train, 
not  deigning  to  bestow  another  glance  upon  his  daughter. 

"  Bid  farewell  to  your  sisters,"  said  the  King  of  France 
again. 

Cordelia,  in  taking  leave  of  Goneril  and  Regan,  begged 
them  to  treat  their  father  well,  for  too  truly  she  mis- 
trusted their  selfishness  and  hardness  of  heart.  Regan 
told  her  haughtily  not  to  prescribe  their  duties  to  them  ; 
and  Goneril  bade  her  study  to  content  her  husband,  who 
had  only  received  her  out  of  charity. 

"  Come,  my  fair  Cordelia,"  said  the  King  of  France  ; 
and,  secure  in  her  true  lover's  tender  protection,  the  young 
girl  passed  from  the  home  that  had  so  cruelly  spurned 
her. 

Goneril  and  Regan 

What  Cordelia  had  feared  with  respect  to  her  sisters 
speedily  came  to  pass.  When  the  kingdom  was  safely 
in  their  possession,  their  true  natures  became  apparent, 
and  they  showed  themselves  for  what  they  really  were — 
false,  cruel,  and  utterly  heartless  women.  The  arrange- 
ment had  been  that  King  Lear,  with  a  hundred  knights, 

341 


King    Lear 


was  to  stay  a  month  at  each  daughter's  in  turn,  but  before 
his  term  of  residence  at  his  eldest  son-in-law's,  the  Duke 
of  Albany,  had  come  to  an  end,  Goneril  contrived,  by 
her  outrageous  behaviour,  to  drive  him  from  the  palace. 
She  pretended  that  his  knights  brought  disorder  into  her 
household  ;  and  although  her  father  had  presented  her 
with  half  his  kingdom  as  a  dowry,  she  grudged  even  the 
small  expenditure  of  maintaming  this  paltry  band  of 
followers.  She  ordered  her  steward  Oswald  and  her  ser- 
vants to  treat  him  with  open  negligence  and  disrespect, 
in  the  hope  of  bringing  about  a  quarrel  ;  if  it  were  to  her 
father's  distaste,  she  said  brutally,  he  could  go  to  her 
sister's  ;  she  knew  that  Regan  was  of  the  same  mind 
with  herself  in  the  resolve,  as  they  expr^ed  it,  "  not  to 
be  overruled." 

"  Idle  old  man,"  remarked  Goneril  contemptuously, 
"  who  would  like  still  to  manage  the  authorities  that  he 
has  given  away." 

Lear,  always  fiery  -  tempered  and  impetuous,  was 
certainly  not  one  to  submit  tamely  to  such  insulting 
treatment,  and,  almost  out  of  his  mind  at  the  base  in- 
gratitude of  Goneril  and  the  insolence  of  her  domestics, 
he  ordered  his  horses  to  be  got  ready,  and  prepared  to 
depart  to  his  second  daughter.  He  now  began  to  repent 
of  his  harshness  to  Cordelia,  and  to  realise  how  foolish 
he  had  been  in  parting  so  rashly  with  his  authority. 

But  the  poor,  headstrong  old  King  had  one  friend  near 
him  of  whom  he  did  not  know.  The  faithful  Earl  of 
Kent  loved  his  mister  in  spite  of  his  faults,-  and  deter- 
mined not  to  forsake  him  in  the  evil  days  which  he  knew 
must  be  at  hand.     In  the  guise  of  a  poor  man,  Kent  came 

342 


Goneril    and    Regan 

to  the  palace  of  the  Duke  of  Albany,  and  persuaded  King 
Lear  to  take  him  into  his  service. 

^One  other  devoted  follower  was  also  left  to  the  King — 
his  faithful  Fool,  or  jester.  The  loving  loyalty  of  this 
man  never  failed,  and  his  deep  attachment  to  his  royal 
master  was  touching  to  see.  In  the  midst  of  the  vexations 
which  fretted  his  impatient  spirit,  the  old  King  turned  for 
refreshment  to  the  quaint  sayings  of  this  humble  friend  ; 
had  he  but  known  it,  the  intelligence  of  this  poor  Fool  far 
surpassed  in  wisdom  his  own  mad  folly. 

Cordelia's  departure  had  been  a  great  grief  to  this  affec- 
tionate creature,  and  after  she  went  to  France  he  pined 
and  pined  away,  and  kept  sadly  aloof  from  his  master. 
But  King  Lear,  missing  his  favourite,  sent  for  him,  and 
the  poor  Fool  came  in  answer  to  the  summons,  glib  of 
tongue,  but  with  eyes  that  looked  sorrowful  enough  under 
his  cap  and  bells.  His  speech  was  ready,  as  usual,  but  his 
wit  was  tinged  with  bitter  philosophy,  and  his  sayings 
conveyed  many  a  sharp  home-truth  to  the  misguided 
monarch.  The  King  suffered  him  to  speak  what  he  would 
have  allowed  no  one  else  to  utter,  and  the  Fool,  in  half- 
mocking  words,  pointed  out  with  blunt  plainness  the 
folly  of  the  King  in  giving  away  his  possessions.  Later 
on,  when  Goneril  appeared,  and  with  her  lying  statements 
and  heartless  insolence  almost  goaded  Lear  to  madness, 
the  poor  Fool  tried,  by  every  means  in  his  power,  to 
divert  the  King's  mind  ;  he  desperately  interposed  after 
some  of  Goneril's  most  biting  speeches,  tr3dng  to  take  off 
their  edge  by  a  little  twist  of  humour,  and  to  distract  the 
King's  attention  from  his  daughter's  cruelty  by  bringing 
reproof   upon   himself   by   his    own    impertinent    sallies. 

343 


King    Lear 

Poor  faithful  heart  !  He  might  as  well  hav^  tried  to 
divert  a  thunderbolt  with  a  harlequin's  wand.  In  the 
storm  that  was  now  to  burst  over  them,  the  poor  thra^ 
could  do  nothing  to  save  his  master,  but  at  least  he  could 
cling  to  him  with  unswerving  fidelity,  and  share  his 
wanderings  and  misery. 

The  Duke  of  Albany,  less  hard-hearted  than  his  wife, 
tried  to  soften  her  harsh  severity,  bu^  his  attempts  were 
useless.  She  declined  to  listen  to  any  reasoning,  called 
his  mildness  '  want  of  wisdom,''  and^  acting  on  her  own 
authority,  suddenly  dismissed  fifty  of  her  father's  knights, 
on  th3  frivolous  and  altogether  false  pretext  that  they 
conducted  themselves  in  a  riotous  fashion  in  her  house, 
and  that  it  was  dangerous  for  the  lives  of  herself  and  her 
husband  for  Lear  to  keep  such  a  large  guard  about  him. 

Lear,  furious  with  rage,  declared  his  intention  of  leaving 
Albany's  palace  immediately,  and  started  with  the  Fool  for 
Regan's  house,  sending  Kent  on  in  adv^.nce  with  letters 
to  announce  his  coming.  Goneril,  however,  to  secure  her 
sister  on  her  side,  also  sent  letters  to  her  by  the  steward 
Oswald,  the  man  who  had  already  incurred  King  Lear's 
wrath  by  his  insolence.  The  wo  messengers  happening 
to  meet  on  the  way,  outside  the  castle  of  the  Earl  of 
Gloucester,  where  Regan  and  her  husband  were  then 
staying,  Kent  fell  on  the  saucy  knave,  and  gave  him  a 
thoroughly  well-deserved  thra::hing.  Oswald's  loud  and 
cowardly  cries  raised  the  household,  and  by  order  of  the 
Duke  of  Cornwall,  Kent  was  seized  and  placed  in  the 
stocks,  in  spite  of  his  protest  that  he  was  the  messenger 
of  the  King,  and  as  such  ought  to  be  treated  with  respect. 
He  took  his  punishment  with  much  philosophy,  and  when 

344 


Goneril    and    Regan 

the  kindly  Earl  of  Gloucester  expressed  his  pity,  and  said 
he  would  entreat  the  Duke  of  Cornwall  for  him,  Kent 
answered  with  sturdy  fortitude :  "  Pray  do  not,  sir  ;  I 
have  watched  and  travelled  hard  ;  some  time  I  shall 
sleep  out,  the  rest  I'll  whistle."  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  stout-hearted  champion  presently  went  calmly  to 
sleep  in  his  uncomfortable  resting-place. 

When  King  Lear,  with  the  Fool  and  a  gentleman  atten- 
dant, arrived  at  the  Earl  of  Gloucester's  castle,  the  first 
thing  he  saw  was  his  messenger  sitting  in  the  stocks.  He 
asked  indignantly  who  had  dared  to  do  such  a  deed,  and 
was  told  that  it  was  his  daughter  and  his  son-in-law.  The 
King  could  scarcely  think  such  a  thing  was  possible,  and 
demanded  to  see  Regan  and  the  Duke  of  Cornwall.  They 
returned  for  answer  that  they  could  not  be  spoken  with. 
King  Lear's  fiery  temper  was  already  blazing  at  this 
insulting  reception.  He  sent  a  peremptory  summons 
that  Regan  and  her  husband  should  come  forth  and  hear 
him,  or  else  he  would  go  and  batter  with  drums  at  their 
chamber  door  ;  and  the  Earl  of  Gloucester,  always  ready 
to  make  peace,  at  last  persuaded  his  guests  to  appear. 

After  a  stiff  greeting  from  the  Duke  of  Cornwall  and 
his  wife,  Kent  was  set  at  liberty,  and  King  Lear  began  to 
relate  the  unkind  treatment  of  Goneril,  thinking  to  receive 
some  affection  and  sympathy  from  this  daughter,  although 
the  eldest  one  had  behaved  so  badly. 

Regan,  however,  took  her  sister's  part,  and  coldly 
replied  that  she  could  not  think  that  her  sister  would  have 
failed  the  least  in  her  duty  ;  if  she  restrained  the  riots 
of  his  followers,  she  was  not  to  blame.  Her  father  was 
old,  he  should  be  ruled  and  led  by  some  discretion  better 

345 


King    Lear 


than  his  own.  Therefore  she  prayed  him  to  return  to 
Goneril  and  say  he  had  wronged  her. 

"  Ask  her  forgiveness  ?"  demanded  King  Lear.  "  Mark 
how  this  becomes  the  house."  He  fell  on  his  knees  and 
continued  in  bitter  mockery  :  "  '  Dear  daughter,  I  confess 
that  I  am  old  ;  age  is  unnecessary  ;  on  my  knees  I  beg 
that  you'll  vouchsafe  me  raiment,  bed,  and  food.'  " 

Regan  was  annoyed  at  the  old  man's  raillery,  and  again 
bade  him  return  to  her  sister. 

"  Never,  Regan,"  said  King  Lear,  rising ;  and  in  angry 
words  he  called  down  the  vengeance  of  heaven  on  his 
eldest  daughter  for  her  black  ingratitude. 

"  So  you  will  wish  on  me  when  the  rash  mood  is  on," 
said  Regan. 

"  No,  Regan,  you  will  never  have  my  curse,"  said  the 
old  man,  and  with  piteous  words  of  misplaced  affection 
he  tried  to  convince  himself  that  this  daughter  would 
never  have  treated  him  as  the  other  one  had  done. 

While  they  were  speaking,  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  was 
heard,  and,  to  the  horror  and  dismay  of  King  Lear,  Goneril 
herself  appeared. 

"  O  Regan,  wilt  thou  take  her  by  the  hand  ?"  he  asked 
reproachfully. 

"  Why  not  by  the  hand,  sir  ?"  demanded  Goneril 
arrogantly.  "  How  have  I  offended  ?  All  is  not  offence 
that  indiscretion  finds  and  dotage  terms  so." 

Lear's  self-control  was  rapidly  leaving  him.  and  he  could 
scarcely  answer  calmly  when  Regan  again  advised  him 
to  return  and  sojourn  with  her  sister  for  the  remainder 
of  the  month,  dismissing  half  his  train,  and  then  to  go 
back  to  her.     Lear  indignantly  refused  to  return  with 

346 


Goneril    and    Regan 

Goneril,  but,  making  one  last  effort  to  subdue  his  rising 
violence,  he  said  he  would  not  trouble  Goneril ;  they  need 
never  see  each  other  again  ;  but  he  could  stay  with  Regan, 
he  and  his  hundred  knights. 

To  this  Regan  answered  coldly  that  she  had  not  ex- 
pected him  so  soon,  and  was  not  provided  for  his  fit 
welcome.  She  again  counselled  him  to  listen  to  her  sister. 
Fifty  followers  ?  What  should  he  need  of  more  ?  Indeed, 
why  so  many  ?  How,  in  one  house,  could  many  people 
under  two  commands  dwell  peaceably  ?  It  was  hard, 
almost  impossible. 

"  Why  might  not  you,  my  lord,  receive  attendance  from 
those  that  she  calls  servants,  or  from  mine  ?"  put  in  Goneril. 

"  Why  not,  my  lord  ?"  echoed  Regan.  "  If  you  will 
come  to  me — for  now  I  spy  a  danger — I  entreat  you  to 
bring  but  five-and-twenty  ;  to  no  more  will  I  give  place 
or  notice." 

Seeing  that  Regan  was  about  to  treat  him  worse,  if 
anything,  than  Goneril,  King  Lear  said  he  would  return 
to  his  eldest  daughter  with  the  fifty  knights  to  which  she 
had  reduced  him.  But  now  Goneril  began  to  draw  back. 
Why  did  he  need  five-and-twenty,  ten,  or  even  five 
followers,  in  a  house  where  twice  as  many  had  orders  to 
attend  on  him  ? 

"  What  need  of  one  ?"  added  Regan. 

"  O,  reason  not  the  need,"  exclaimed  Lear,  justly  in- 
dignant at  this  sordid  argument  from  those  to  whom  he 
had  given  his  entire  possessions.  ^'  Our  basest  beggars 
are  in  the  poorest  thing  superfluous.  But  for  true  need 
— you  heavens,  give  me  that  patience,  patience  I  need  ! 
You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man,  as  full  o^ 

349 


King    Lear 


grief  as  age  ;  wretched  in  both.  .  .  .  You  think  I'll 
weep  ?  No,  I'll  not  weep.  I  have  full  cause  of  weeping  ; 
but  this  heart  shall  break  into  a  hundred  thousand  flaws 
before  I'll  weep.  ...     O  Fool,  I  shall  go  mad  !" 

And,  hurling  forth  threats  of  revenge,  King  Lear  hurried 
from  the  castle,  followed  by  his  faithful  companions,  the 
Fool  and  the  Earl  of  Kent.  Darkness  was  coming  on  ; 
it  was  a  wild  night  of  storm  ;  the  wind  howled  and 
raged ;  for  miles  around  on  the  desolate  heath  there 
was  not  even  a  bush  for  shelter.  But  the  heart-broken 
father's  only  thought  was  to  fly  from  the  cruel  daughters 
who  had  so  shamefully  treated  him. 

The  Earl  of  Gloucester  came  in  much  concern  to  tell 
Goneril  and  Regan  that  the  King  was  leaving  the  castle, 
but  they  bade  him  with  cold  brutality  not  to  persuade 
him  to  sta}^  but  to  shut  his  doors.  Regan  remarked  that 
to  wilful  men  the  injuries  the}^  brought  on  themselves 
must  be  their  own  schoolmasters  ;  Lear  was  attended 
with  a  desperate  train,  and  it  was  wise  to  be  cautious. 

"  Shut  up  your  doors,  my  lord,"  agreed  Cornwall  ; 
"  it's  a  wild  night  ;  my  Regan  counsels  well.  Come  in, 
out  of  the  storm." 


Night  and  Storm 

Out  into  the  night  and  storm  hurried  King  Lear,  but 
Httle  he  heeded  the  darkness  or  the  raging  of  the  elements, 
for  now  he  was  mad — really  mad.  Amid  the  howling  of 
the  blast,  cataracts  of  rain,  the  rattle  of  thunder,  and 
blinding  flashes  of  hghtning,  the  old  man  wandered,  bare- 

350 


Night    and    Storm 


headed,  tearing  his  white  locks,  and  shouting  incoherent 
exclamations  to  the  whirlwind. 

"  Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks  !  Rage  !  Blow  ! 
.  .  .  Spit,  fire  !  Spout,  rain  !  Nor  rain,  wind,  thunder, 
fir.^,  are  my  daughters.     I  tax  not  you,  you  elements, 


"  Blow,  winds  !     Rage  !     Blow  I' 

with  unkindness.  I  never  gave  you  kingdom,  called  you 
children  ;  you  owe  me  nothing  ;  then  let  fall  your  horrible 
pleasure.  Here  I  stand,  your  slave,  a  poor,  infirm,  weak, 
and  despised  old  man." 

Then,  his   mood   altering,  he   called   them  the  servile 

^51 


King    Lear 


ministers  of  two  pernicious  daughters,  who  had  joined 
with  them  in  battle  against  an  old  white  head. 

So  he  went  on,  raving  wildly,  while  all  the  time  the 
faithful  Fool  clung  to  him,  half  supporting  his  tottering 
steps,  and  still  striving  with  his  jests  to  divert  the  mind 
of  his  heart-broken  master. 

Meanwhile,  friends  of  the  King  were  working  on  his 
behalf.  Information  had  reached  the  Earl  of  Kent  that 
there  was  secret  division  between  Albany  and  Cornwall, 
though  the  face  of  it  was  hidden  with  mutual  cunning. 
Word  had  been  carried  to  France  of  the  harsh  way  in 
which  both  these  sons-in-law  had  behaved  to  the  old 
King,  and  Cordelia  was  on  her  way  to  rescue  her 
father,  and  had  already  landed  with  an  army  at  Dover. 
The  Earl  of  Gloucester  also,  disgusted  with  the  brutal 
behaviour  of  Regan  and  her  husband,  was  now  on  the 
watch  to  protect  the  old  man.  After  King  Lear  had  been 
driven  out  into  the  storm,  Gloucester  overheard  a  plot 
to  put  him  to  death.  He  at  once  made  arrangements  to 
secure  his  safety,  and,  setting  out  in  search  of  the  fugitives, 
he  found  them  in  a  wretched  little  hovel  on  the  heath,  where 
they  had  gone  for  shelter.  The  poor  old  man's  wits  were 
now  entirely  gone,  and  his  distracted  brain  could  do 
nothing  but  brood  over  the  heartless  cruelty  of  his 
daughters,  which  had  brought  him  to  this  condition.  But 
he  was  tenderly  humoured  and  watched  over  by  the  few 
followers  still  left  to  him,  and  now  by  their  loyalty  he  was 
safely  conveyed  out  of  reach  of  his  enemies.  Gloucester 
told  Kent  there  was  a  litter  waiting  ready,  and  bade 
him  take  up  his  master  in  his  arms  at  once,  and  carry  him 
to  it,  and  then  drive  instantly  to  Dover,  where  he  should 

352 


Night    and    Stem 

receive  both  welcome  and  protection.  If  he  delayed  in 
the  slightest  degree,  the  King's  hfe,  and  Kent's,  and  all 
who  offered  to  defend  him,  would  assuredly  be  lost. 

Thanks  to  the  devotion  of  his  faithful  friends,  the  poor 
old  King  was  safely  conveyed  to  Dover,  but  a  terrible 
fate  rewarded  the  loyalty  of  the  Earl  of  Gloucester. 
Finding  out  the  part  he  had  played  in  the  escape  of  King 
Lear,  the  Duke  of  Cornwall,  with  savage  barbarity,  had 
both  the  eyes  of  the  nobleman  put  out,  and  then  Regan 
pitilessly  bade  her  servants  thrust  him  forth  from  his 
own  castle. 

A  just  punishment,  however,  overtook  the  brutal  Earl. 
One  of  his  own  servants,  indignant  at  his  cruelty,  refused 
to  perform  his  bidding.  Cornwall,  enraged,  fell  upon  the 
man,  and  they  fought.  Regan,  coming  to  her  husband's 
assistance,  stabbed  the  servant  from  behind,  but  not  before 
the  man  contrived  to  wound  the  Earl  so  seriously  that 
he  soon  after  died  of  the  injury. 

King  Lear  reached  Dover  safely,  and  Cordelia  was  pre- 
pared" with  the  most  tender  affection  to  welcome  her  old 
father.  But  remorse  for  the  injustice  with  which  he  had 
treated  this  daughter,  and  robbed  her  of  her  rights,  to 
bestow  them  on  her  worthless  sisters,  so  stung  King  Lear's 
mind  that  shame  kept  him  from  seeing  Cordeha,  and  he 
contrived  to  make  his  escape  from  the  French  camp. 
Cordelia  sent  out  in  search  of  him,  and  he  was  presently 
found  wandering  about  on  the  cliffs,  all  decked  out  with 
wild  flowers,  but  still  in  his  madness  assuming  the  majesty 
of  a  King.  He  was  taken  back  to  the  camp,  and  placed 
in  the  care  of  a  skilful  doctor,  who  said  that  the  chief 
thing  needed  to  cure  his  shattered  senses  was  complete 

353  2 


King   Lear 

repose.  The  poor  old  King  was  put  to  bed,  and  every- 
thing was  done  to  aid  his  recovery  ;  in  the  tent  where  he 
lay  attendants  watched  so  that  nothing  should  disturb 
him,  and  soft  music  was  played.  He  had  a  long,  refresh- 
ing sleep,  and  when  the  moment  of  awakening  came,  to  the 
great  joy  of  Cordelia  and  those  who  had  followed  him  so 
faithfully,  it  was  evident  that  his  reason  was  restored. 

The  first  sight  on  which  his  eyes  opened  was  the  loving 
face  of  Cordelia.  For  a  moment  iLe  King  thought  it 
must  be  some  spirit  from  heaven,  and  could  scarcely 
believe  that  it  was  indeed  his  own  daughter,  in  flesh 
and  biood.  He  thought  that  his  wit;}  must  still  be 
wandering. 

"  Where  have  I  been  ?  Where  am  I  ?"  he  murmured, 
looking  round  with  dazed  eyes,  while  the  spectators 
watched  with  mute  anxiety,  to  see  what  turn  his  malady 
would  take.  "  I  should  die  with  pity  to  see  another  thus. 
I  know  not  what  to  say.  I  will  not  swear  these  are  my 
hands  ;  let's  see.  I  feel  this  pin  prick.  Would  I  were 
assured  of  my  condition  !" 

"Oh,  look  upon  me,  sir !"  entreated  Cordelia,  with  hei 
soft  voice.  "  And  hold  your  hands  in  benediction  ovei 
me.     No,  sir,  you  must  not  kneel." 

"  Pray  do  not  mock  me,"  said  Lear  in  trembling  accents. 
"  I  am  a  very  foolish,  fond  old  man,  fourscore  and  up- 
ward, not  an  hour  more  or  less  ;  and,  to  deal  plainly,  I 
fear  I  am  not  in  my  perfect  mind.  Methinks  I  should 
know  you,  and  know  this  man  " — he  looked  round  in 
piteous  appeal — "  yet  I  am  doubtful,  for  I  am  ignorant 
what  place  this  is.  .  .  .  Pray  do  not  mock  me,  for,  as  I 
am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady  to  be  my  child  Cordelia." 

354 


Night    and    Storm 

"  And  so  I  am,  I  am,"  cried  Cordelia,  the  tears  raining 
from  her  tender  eyes. 

"Are  your  tears  wet  ?"  said  Lear,  touching  her  cheeks 
softly,  like  a  child.  "  Yes,  faith  !  I  pray,  weep  not.  If 
you  have  poison  for  me,  I  will  drink  it.  I  know  you  do  not 
love  me,  for  your  sisters  have,  as  I  do  remember,  done  me 
wrong.     You  have  some  cause  ;  they  have  not." 

"  No  cause,  no  cause,"  said  Cordelia. 

"  Am  I  in  France  ?"  asked  Lear. 

"  In  your  own  kingdom,  sir,"  said  Kent  respectfully. 

"  Do  not  abuse  me,"  pleaded  the  once  haughty  King. 

The  good  doctor  now  interposed  ;  he  bade  Cordelia  be 
comforted :  the  madness  was  cured,  but  there  was  danger 
in  letting  the  King  brood  over  what  had  passed.  He 
must  not  be  troubled  with  further  talking  until  his  shaken 
senses  wore  more  securely  settled. 

"  Will  it  please  your  highness  walk  ?"  asked  Cordelia, 
with  her  sweet  grace  of  manner. 

"  You  must  bear  with  me,"  said  the  old  man  humbly. 
"  Pray  you,  now,  forget  and  forgive.  I  am  old  and 
foolish." 

And  so,  subdued  in  mind  and  crushed  in  spirit,  clinging 
to  the  child  whom  he  had  spurned,  the  once  fiery  and  im- 
petuous monarch  was  tenderly  led  away  by  his  loving 
daughter. 

It  would  be  pleasant  if  the  story  could  end  here,  and 
if  we  could  leave  the  tempest-tossed  old  King  in  the 
cherished  keeping  of  the  gentle  Cordelia.  But  a  sadder 
fate  for  both  was  at  hand.  The  King  of  France  had  been 
suddenly  called  back  to  his  own  land  by  business  which 

355  z  2 


King    Lear 

imported  so  much  fear  and  danger  to  the  State  that  his 
personal  return  was  absolutely  necessary.  In  his  absence 
the  French  forces  were  attacked  by  the  British  troops  of 
Goneril  and  Regan,  under  the  command  of  a  treacherous 
son  of  the  loyal  Earl  of  Gloucester,  called  Edmund.  Un- 
fortunately, on  this  occasion  the  British  won  the  battle, 
and  Cordelia  and  King  Lear  were  both  captured. 

Edmund  ordered  them  away  to  prison,  whither  King 
Lear  went  joyously  enough,  for  he  was  quite  happy  at 
being  again  with  his  daughter.  As  soon  as  they  had  gone, 
Edmund  despatched  an  officer  to  the  prison  with  secret 
instructions,  which  he  ordered  him  to  carry  out  at 
once. 

Scarcely  had  this  been  done  when  a  flourish  of  trumpets 
announced  the  approach  of  the  Duke  of  Albany,  Goneril, 
and  Regan.  The  Duke  of  Albany,  always  of  a  milder 
and  more  merciful  nature,  had  for  some  time  been  dis- 
satisfied with  the  treatment  to  which  the  poor  old  King 
had  been  subjected.  He  was  indignant  at  the  Duke  of 
Cornwall's  barbarity  in  putting  out  the  eyes  of  Gloucester, 
and  was  glad  to  hear  that  he  had  met  his  just  punishment 
at  the  hands  of  the  servant  whom  he  had  killed  for  daring 
to  remonstrate  with  him. 

Albany  now  demanded  that  Lear  should  be  handed  over 
to  his  keeping — a  request  which  Edmund  refused  to 
comply  with,  giving  as  pretext  that  the  question  of 
Cordelia  and  her  father  required  a  fitter  place  for  discus- 
sion. The  Duke  of  Albany  ordered  Edmund  to  obey, 
saying  that  he  regarded  him  only  as  a  subject  in  this  war. 
and  not  as  his  brother,  whereupon  Regan  interposed, 
and  declared  that  she  had  invested  Edmund  with  full 

356 


Night    and    Storm 


authority,  therefore  he  was  quite  the  equal  of  Albany  ; 
moreover,  she  intended  to  marry  him. 

An  angry  discussion  now  arose  between  the  two  sisters. 
Goneril  also  had  taken  a  fancy  to  this  Edmund,  and  had 
not  scrupled  to  lay  a  plot  to  get  her  husband  killed,  so 
that  she  might  marry  him.  Knowing  Regan's  designs, 
she  had  added  to  her  crimes  by  secretly  poisoning  her 
sister,  in  order  to  get  her  out  of  the  way,  and  even  while 
they  were  disputing,  the  drug  began  to  take  effect,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  Regan  was  dead. 

Goneril's  husband,  however,  had  discovered  the  plot 
against  himself,  and  now  he  publicly  denounced  his  wife. 
In  ungovernable  fury  at  the  failure  of  her  schemes,  and 
refusing  to  give  any  answer  to  the  Duke  of  Albany's 
accusations,  Goneril  hurried  away,  and  took  her  own  life.  / 

Thus  miserably  perished  these  two  hard-hearted  and 
wicked  women. 

Edmund  in  the  meanwhile,  wounded  to  death  by  his 
own  brave  half-brother  Edgar,  who  had  appeared  as 
champion  to  punish  Edmund  for  his  many  horrible  acts 
of  treachery  and  wickedness,  now  confessed  that  he  and 
Goneril  had  given  private  instructions  that  Cordelia  was 
to  be  hanged  in  prison,  and  had  intended  to  lay  the 
blame  on  her  own  despair,  which  had  caused  her  to  do 
this  desperate  deed. 

Messengers  were  sent  in  haste  to  arrest  this  fatal  order, 
but,  alas  !  it  was  too  late,  x^s  Edmund  was  borne  away. 
King  Lear  entered,  bearing  the  dead  body  of  Cordelia  in  his 
arms.  The  old  man's  reason  was  again  tottering  on  the 
brink  of  madness,  and  the  spectators  could  only  listen  in 
pitying  sorrow  to  his  frenzied  grief  over  his  murdered 

^57 


King    Lear 


child.  One  moment  he  mourned  her  as  dead ;  the  next 
he  tried  to  persuade  himself  she  was  still  living.  He  called 
for  a  looking-glass,  to  see  if  her  breath  would  mist  or 
stain  it,  a  proof  that  she  lived  ;  and  held  a  feather  to  her 
lips,  and  thought  it  stirred.  The  Earl  of  Kent  came  and 
knelt  before  him,  but  the  King  turned  from  him  impa- 
tiently, and  bent  again  over  Cordelia,  where  she  lay  on 
the  ground. 

"  Cordelia,  Cordelia  !  Stay  a  little  !"  he  implored  in 
piteous  accents.  "  Ha  !  What  is  it  thou  sayest  ?"  He 
leant  his  ear  to  listen,  and  with  eager  self-deception  tried 
to  explain  his  failure  to  hear  a  sound.  "  Her  voice  was 
ever  soft,  gentle,  and  low,  an  excellent  thing  in  woman." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  change,  he  drew  himself  up,  and, 
looking  round,  cried  exultingly  :  "  I  killed  the  slave  that 
was  a-hanging  thee  !" 

"  'Tis  true,  my  lords,  he  did,"  said  an  officer  who  was 
standing  by. 

"  Did  I  not,  fellow  ?"  said  the  King  proudly.  "  I  have 
seen  the  time,  with  my  good  biting  falchion,  I  would  have 
made  them  skip.  I  am  old  now,  and  these  same  crosses 
spoil  me. — Who  are  you  ?  Mine  eyes  are  not  of  the  best ; 
I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute.     Are  you  not  Kent  ?" 

"  The  same — your  servant  Kent." 

But  the  King's  last  gleam  of  reason  was  going,  and 
Kent  in  vain  tried  to  make  him  realise  the  fact  of  his  own 
loyal  fidelity,  and  that  the  cruel  Goneril  and  Regan  were 
dead.  The  King's  thoughts  were  again  with  his  beloved 
child. 

"  And  my  poor  fool  is  hanged  !  No,  no,  no  life  !"  he 
wailed  in  heart-broken  accents.     ^'  Why  should  a  dog,  a 

358 


Night    and    Storm 


horse,  a  rat,  have  hfe,  and  thou  no  breath  at  all  ?  Thou'lt 
come  no  more — never,  never,  never,  never,  never  !  Pray, 
you,  undo  this  button."  He  made  a  choking  movement 
at  the  cloak  at  his  throat,  and  someone  stepped  forward 
and  gently  unclasped  it  for  him.  "  Thank  you,  sir.  Do 
you  see  this  ?  Look  on  her — look,  her  lips — look  there, 
look  there  !"  and  with  a  strange  cry  of  mingled  joy  and 
anguish  King  Lear  fell  dead  on  the  body  of  his  dear  child 
Cordeha. 

And  so,  with  all  his  faults  and  follies,  which  had 
assuredly  wrought  out  their  own  bitter  retribution,  the 
fiery-hearted  King  passed  into  the  realm  of  eternal  rest.. 


3S9 


"'  Honest  lago  " 

I\A\'E,  generous,  of  a  free  and  open 
r.ature,  Othello  the  Moor  had  won  high 
hcnour  in  the  state  of  Venice,  for, 
although  dark  in  colouring  and  of 
an  alien  race,  he  was  one  of  her  most 
renowned  generals,  and  time  after 
time  had  carried  her  arms  to  victory.  When,  therefore, 
alarming  news  reached  Venice  that  the  Turkish  hordes 
were  again  threatening  to  invade  some  of  her  most 
valued  territories,  it  was  to  the  Moorish  warrior  Othello 
that  the  Venetian  senators  turned  at  once  to  a\'ert  the 
threatened  danger. 

Othello's  frank,  valiant  nature  had  won  him  many 
friends,  but  close  at  hand,  where  he  little  suspected  it, 
was  one  subtle  and  dangerous  enemy.     lago,  one  of  his 

360 


"  Honest    la 


go 


under  -  officers,  hated  him  with  a  deadly  venom.  lago 
was  a  brave  soldier,  but  a  man  of  utterly  unscrupulous 
character.  He  had  been  with  Othello  through  several 
campaigns,  and  when  a  chance  for  promotion  came  had 
hoped,  through  high  personal  influence,  to  obtain  the 
envied  position  of  Othello's  lieutenant.  In  his  own 
opinion,  lago  thoroughly  merited  this  post,  but  when 
suit  was  made  to  Othello  he  evaded  the  petitioners, 
and  finally  put  an  end  to  their  hopes  by  saying  that  he 
had  already  chosen  his  officer. 

"  And  what  was  he  ?"  demanded  lago  disdainfully. 
•'  Forsooth,  a  great  arithmetician — one  Michael  Cassio, 
a  Florentine  that  never  set  a  squadron  in  the  field,  nor 
knows  the  division  of  a  battle  more  than  a  spinster,  unless 
by  bookish  theory  ;  mere  prattle  without  practice  is  all 
his  soldiership.  But  he,  in  good  time,  must  be  his 
lieutenant,  and  I — God  bless  the  mark  ! — his  Moorship's 
ancient." 

Burning  for  revenge,  lago,  instead  of  declining  the 
inferior  position  of  "  ancient,"  or  ensign-bearer,  accefpted 
it,  but  only  to  serve  his  own  purpose.  "  In  following 
Othello,  I  follow  but  myself,"  he  declared.  "  Heaven  is 
my  judge,  not  for  love  and  duty,  but  seeming  so,  for  my 
peculiar  end."  For  lago  prided  himself  on  the  skill  with 
which  he  could  conceal  his  real  feelings,  and  under  a 
mask  of  the  bluntest  honesty  he  began  to  work  out  a 
scheme  of  diabolical  cunning. 

There  was  a  certain  senator  of  Venice  at  that  time 
called  Brabantio,  who  had  an  only  daughter,  named 
Desdemona.  Brabantio  was  very  fond  of  Othello,  and 
often    invited    him    to    his    house,  and    questioned    him 

361 


Othello 

concerning  the  story  of  his  hfe — the  battles,  sieges, 
fortunes,  through  which  he  had  passed.  Othello  re- 
counted all  his  adventures  from  year  to  year,  from  his 
boyish  days  to  the  moment  when  he  was  speaking  ;  he 
told  of  disastrous  chances,  of  moving  accidents  by  flood 
and  field  ;  of  hair-breadth  escapes  ;  of  being  taken  by 
the  foe  and  sold  into  slavery  ;  of  his  redemption  from 
captivity  ;  and  then  of  his  travels  in  all  sorts  of  wild 
and  extraordinary  places.  He  described  the  vast  caves 
and  barren  deserts  that  he  had  seen  ;  rough  quarries, 
rocks,  and  hills,  whose  heads  touched  heaven  ;  cannibals 
that  eat  each  other,  and  queer  tribes  of  savages  whose 
heads  grow  beneath  their  shoulders. 

Desdemona,  the  gentle  daughter  of  Brabantio,  dearly 
loved  to  hear  these  thrilling  stories,  and  was  quite  fas- 
cinated by  the  valorous  soldier  who  had  passed  through 
such  strange  experiences.  Hastily  despatching  her  house- 
hold affairs,  she  would  come  again  and  again  to  listen 
greedily  to  Othello,  often  weeping  for  pity  when  she  heard 
of  some  distressful  stroke  he  had  suffered  in  his  youth. 
His  story  being  done,  she  would  sigh,  and  swear,  "  in 
faith,  'twas  strange — 'twas  passing  strange  ;  'twas  pitiful 
— 'twas  wondrous  pitiful !"  She  wished  she  had  not  heard 
it,  and  yet  she  wished  that  heaven  had  made  her  such  a 
man  ;  and  she  bade  Othello,  if  he  had  a  friend  who  loved 
her,  that  he  would  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  his  story, 
and  that  would  woo  her.  Upon  this  hint,  Othello  spoke. 
Desdemona  loved  him  for  the  dangers  he  had  passed, 
and  Othello  loved  Desdemona  because  she  pitied  him. 

This  was  the  simple  explanation  of  what  her  father, 
furious  with  rage,  put  down  to  witchcraft,'  for  he  could 

362 


"  Honest    la 


go 


not  believe  that  his  timid  daughter  could  really  have 
fallen  in  love  with  such  an  alarming  person  as  the  swarthy 
Moor.  But,  as  Desdemona  said,  she  saw  Othello's  visage 
in  his  mind,  and  the  valour  and  nobility  of  his  nature 
made  her  forget  the  darkness  of  his  complexion.  Know- 
ing her  father's  violent,  unreasonable  disposition,  and 
fearing  that  he  would  never  give  his  consent,  Desdemona 
quietly  left  her  home  one  night  without  consulting  him, 
and  was  married  to  3thcllo. 

Now  was  lago's  opportunity.  Finding  out  by  some 
means  what  was  taking  place,  he  informed  a  rejected 
suitor  of  Desdomona's  calbd  Roderigo,  a  brainless  Vene- 
tian youth,  and  together  they  went  to  Brabantio's  house, 
and  in  high  glee  roused  him,  and  told  the  news  that  Othello 
had  stolen  away  his  daughter.  Having  raised  the  alarm, 
and  set  them  on  the  trail  where  they  would  be  likely  to 
find  Othello,  lago  thought  it  discreet  to  retire,  for  he 
did  not  wish  it  to  appear  as  if  he  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  matter.  To  Othello,  he  afterwards  laid  all  the  blame 
on  Roderigo,  declaring  that  several  times  he  was  so 
enraged  with  him  that  he  could  almost  have  killed 
him  for  the  abusive  way  in  which  he  had  spoken  of 
Othello. 

Brabantio  immediately  called  up  his  servants,  and  set 
out  to  look  for  the  culprits ;  but  before  he  found  them 
the  mischief  was  done — Othello  and  Desdemona  were 
securely  married. 

In  the  Council  Chamber  at  Venice,  though  it  was  night 
time,  the  Duke  and  senators  were  holding  an  important 
meeting.     News  had  come  that  a  fleet  of  Turkish  galleys 

363 


Othello 

was  bearing  down  on  Cyprus ;  and  though  the  rumours 
were  conflicting  as  to  the  number  of  the  fleet  and  its 
present  position,  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  danger  was 
imminent,  and  that  preparations  for  defence  must  at 
once  be  set  on  foot.  Messengers  were  sent  to  summon 
both  Othello  and  Brabantio.  As  it  happened,  the  latter 
was  already  on  his  way  to  appeal  to  the  Duke  to  punish 
Othello,  and  happening  to  fall  in  with  Othello,  the  two 
arrived  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  you  against 
the  public  enemy,"  said  the  Duke.  Then,  turning  to 
Brabantio,  he  added  courteously :  "I  did  not  see  you  ; 
welcome,  gentle  signor  ;  we  lacked  your  counsel  and  your 
help  to-night." 

"  So  did  I  yours,"  replied  Brabantio  ;  and  he  proceeded 
to  pour  forth  his  complaint,  saying  that  it  was  not  any- 
thing he  had  heard  of  business  which  had  called  him  from 
his  bed,  nor  did  the  public  anxiety  make  any  impression 
on  him,  for  his  own  private  grief  was  of  so  overbearing 
a  nature  that  it  swallowed  up  all  other  concerns. 

The  Duke,  much  concerned,  asked  what  was  the  matter, 
whereupon  Brabantio  in  the  bitterest  terms  accused 
Othello  of  having  bewitched  his  daughter,  for,  he  said, 
it  was  quite  against  nature  that  she  could  have  fallen 
in  love  with  him  if  she  had  been  in  her  proper  senses. 
The  Duke  asked  Othello  what  he  could  say  in  answer  to 
the  charge.  Then  Othello,  in  a  manly  but  modest  fashion, 
gave  a  straightforward  account  of  what  had  really  hap- 
pened, and  so  convincing  were  his  words  that  the  Duke 
was  quite  won  over  to  his  side,  and  at  the  end  exclain^ed 
heartily,  "  I  think  this  tale  would  win  my  daughter  too  !" 

364 


''  Honest    lago 


He  tried  to  persuade  Brabantio  to  make  the  best  of  the 
matter,  but  the  old  senator  was  relentless.  All  that  he 
would  do  was  to  transfer  the  blame  to  his  daughter,  when 
Desdemona,  on  being  sent  for,  confirmed  everything 
Othello  had  said.  Her  father  bade  her  say  to  whom 
in  all  the  assembled  company  she  owed  most  obedience. 
Desdemona,  with  modesty  but  decision,  replied  that  she 
saw  a  divided  duty — that  she  was  indebted  to  her  father 
for  life  and  education,  and  that  she  loved  and  respected 
him  as  a  daughter  ;  but  even  as  her  own  mother  had  left 
her  father,  preferring  Brabantio,  so  Desdemona  claimed 
that  she  had  as  much  right  to  leave  her  father  and  follow 
her  husband  Othello. 

Brabantio  was  quite  unmoved  by  this  argument. 

"  God  be  with  you  !  I  have  done,"  he  said  roughly, 
and  in  a  few  heartless  words  he  handed  over  his  daughter 
to  Othello.  "  Look  to  her,  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see  ; 
she  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee,"  was  his  final 
cruel  taunt. 

"  My  fife  upon  her  faith  !"  cried  Othello  indignantly, 
as  he  clasped  his  weeping  young  wife  in  his  arms. 

The  next  question  to  decide  was  where  Desdemona 
should  stay  during  her  husband's  absence.  She  begged 
so  earnestly  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  him  to  the  war 
that  Othello  joined  his  voice  to  hers,  and  the  Duke  gave 
them  leave  to  settle  the  matter  as  they  chose.  Othello 
was  obliged  to  start  that  very  night,  and  Desdemona  was 
to  follow  later  under  the  escort  of  his  officer,  "  honest 
lago,"  to  whose  care  Othello  especially  committed  her, 
and  whose  wife  Emilia  he  begged  might  attend  on  her. 

If  Othello  had  but  known  it,  "  honest  lago  "  at  that 

365 


Othello 

very  moment  was  already  weaving  his  plans  of  villainy, 
and  was  sneering  inwardly  at  his  General's  open  and 
trustful  nature,  which  made  him  so  easy  to  be  deceived. 
The  sweetest  revenge  which  occurred  to  lago  was  to  bring 
discord  between  Othello  and  the  beautiful  young  wife 
whom  he  loved  so  devotedly.  lago  therefore  determined 
to  set  cunningly  to  work  to  implant  a  feeling  of  jealousy 
in  Othello's  mind.  Like  many  warm-hearted  and  affec- 
tionate people,  Othello  was  extremely  passionate  and 
impulsive.  Once  his  feelings  were  aroused,  he  rushed 
forward  blindly  in  the  direction  in  which  a  clever  villain 
might  lure  him,  and  being  so  absolutely  truthful  and 
candid  himself,  he  was  utterly  unsuspicious  of  falsehood 
in  others. 

lago's  weapon  was  not  far  to  seek,  and  he  had,  more- 
over, the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  he  would  enjoy  a 
double  revenge,  for  it  was  Michael  Cassio,  Othello's 
new  lieutenant,  on  whom  he  fixed  as  a  fitting  tool.  Cassio 
was  young,  handsome,  attractive,  a  general  favourite, 
especially  with  women,  where  his  graceful  manners  always 
won  him  favour.  He  was  already  greatly  liked  by  Des- 
demona,  for  when  Othello  came  to  woo  her,  Cassio  was 
his  frequent  companion,  and  often  carried  messages 
between  them.  What,  then,  more  natural  than  that  a 
young  girl  like  Desdemona  should  presently  grow  tired  of 
her  elderly  and  war-beaten  husband,  and  turn  for  amuse- 
ment to  this  charming  young  gallant  ?  Such,  at  least, 
was  lago's  reasoning,  and  such  was  the  poison  which  he 
intended  to  pour  into  the  ear  of  the  guileless  Othello. 


366 


Well    met    at    Cyprus 

Well  met  at  Cyprus 

un  the  way  to  Cyprus  a  terrible  temp3st  sprang  up, 
which  scattered  Othello's  convoy,  and  drove  his  own  ship 
out  of  its  course,  so  that,  after  all,  Desdemona  got  to  the 
island  before  her  husband.  Cassio,  Othello's  lieutenant, 
had  already  arrived,  ana  had  been  sounding  the  praises 
of  his  General's  wife  to  the  islanders,  and  when  news  came 
that  Desdemona's  ship  had  also  safely  reached  port,  he 
was  ready  with  a  rapturous  greeting  for  the  young  bride. 

"  O,  behold,  the  riches  of  the  ship  is  come  on  shore  !" 
he  cried,  as  Desdemona  approached,  with  Emilia,  lago, 
Roderigo,  and  their  attendants.  "  Hail  to  thee,  lady  ! 
The  grace  of  heaven,  before,  behind  thee,  and  on  every 
hand,  en  wheel  thee  round  !" 

"  I  thank  thee,  valiant  Cassio,"  replied  Desdemona. 
"  What  tidings  can  you  tell  me  of  my  lord  ?" 

Cassio  answered  that  Othello  was  not  yet  arrived,  and 
for  anything  he  knew  he  was  well,  and  would  be  there 
shortly  ;  and  even  as  he  spoke,  the  guns  on  the  citadel 
thundered  a  greeting  to  a  friendly  sail. 

Like  a  spider  who  has  woven  its  web,  lago  watched 
his  victims  ;  he  gloated  over  the  idle  chatter  between 
Cassio  and  Desdemona,  and  marked,  as  they  laughed 
and  talked  together,  how  the  young  man  smiled  and 
bowed,  and  often  kissed  his  fingers  with  an  air  of  gallantry. 

"  Ay,  smile  upon  her,  do,"  he  sneered  to  himself  ; 
"  if  such  tricks  as  these  strip  you  out  of  your  lieutenancy, 
it  had  been  better  you  had  not  kissed  your  three  fingers 
so  oft.  .  .  .  Very  good ;  well  kissed  !  an  excellent 
courtesy  !  'tis  so,  indeed  !" 

367 


Othello 


So  he  went  on,  taking  malicious  pleasure  in  the  young 
man's  little  affected  airs,  which  would  the  more  readily 
lend  colour  to  any  suggestions  lago  chose  to  bring  against 
him. 

Othello,  meanwhile,  had  landed.  His  joy  at  again 
meeting  his  wife  was  so  intense  that  he 
could  scarcely  express  it. 

"  If  it  were  possible  now  to  die,  'twere 
now  to  be  most  happy,"  he  exclaimed,  for 
he  feared  that  unknown  fate  would  never 
again  hold  in  store  for  him  another 
moment  of  such  absolute  content.  "  Come, 
let  us  to  the  castle.  News,  friends !"  he 
went  on,  turning  to  the  others.  "  Our 
wars  are  done,  the  Turks  are  drowned. 
How  does  my  old  acquaintance  of  this 
isle  ?  .  .  .  Come,  Desdemona,  once  more, 
well  met  at  Cyprus  !" 

In  honour  of  the  good  tidings  of  the 
destruction  of  the  Turkish  fleet,  and  of 
the  marriage  of  their  new  Governor, 
Othello,  a  public  rejoicing  was  proclaimed 
in  Cyprus,  and  during  the  space  of  six 
hours  the  whole  island  was  to  be  given 
up  to  feasting  and  revelry. 
Cassio  was  appointed  to  watch  that  evening  as  Captain 
of  the  Guard,  and  lago  saw  here  an  excellent  opportunity 
to  take  the  first  step  in  his  scheme  of  revenge,  by  bringing 
some  disgrace  on  the  young  lieutenant.  He  knew  that  a 
very  little  wine,  such  as  would  have  no  effect  on  another 
man,  made  Cassio  excited  and  quarrelsome.     He  deter- 

368 


Ay,  smile  upon 
her !" 


Well    met    at    Cyprus 

mined  to  lure  him  on  to  drink  more  than  was  good  for 
him,  after  which  Roderigo  was  to  find  some  occasion  to 
irritate  Cassio,  either  by  speaking  too  loud,  or  sneering 
at  his  discipline,  or  by  any  other  means  he  pleased. 
Cassio,  being  rash,  and  very  sudden  in  anger,  would  prob- 
ably strike  Roderigo,  which,  if  possible,  he  was  to  be 
provoked  into  doing,  for  out  of  this  lago  would  incite 
the  islanders  to  mutiny,  and  get  Cassio  dismissed  from 
his  post. 

When,  therefore,  Cassio  entered  the  hall  of  the  castle 
to  take  up  his  duties  for  the  night,  lago  met  him  with  a 
great  appearance  of  friendliness,  and  cordially  pressed  him 
to  join  in  the  entertainment  he  had  provided  for  some 
gues!s,— Montano,  the  former  Governor  of  Cyprus,  and 
some  other  gentlemen,  who  would  fain  drink  a  measure 
to  the  health  of  Othello.  Knowing  his  own  weakness, 
Cassio  at  first  refused. 

"  Not  to-night,  good  lago,"  he  said.  "  I  have  very 
poor  and  unhappy  brains  for  drinking  ;  I  could  well  wish 
courtesy  would  invent  some  other  custom  of  entertain- 
ment." 

"  O,  they  are  our  friends  !  But  one  cup  !"  pleaded 
lago.     "  I  win  drink  it  for  you." 

Cassio  answered  that  he  had  drunk  only  one  cup  that 
night,  and  even  of  that  the  wine  was  diluted,  and  yet 
he  already  felt  the  effects.  He  was  unfortunate  in  this 
peculiarity,  and  dared  not  task  his  weakness  with  any  more. 

"  What,  man  !  'Tis  a  night  of  revels  ;  the  gallants 
desire  it,"  urged  the  tempter. 

"  Where  are  they  ?"  asked  Cassio,  his  resolution  begin- 
ning; to  falter. 

369  AA 


Othello 


"  Here,  at  the  door  ;  I  pray  you,  call  them  in/' 
"  I'll  do  it,  but  it  mislikes  me,"  said  Cassio,  and  he 
reluctantly  went  in  search  of  lago's  guests.  When  he 
presently  returned  with  three  or  four  noisy  gallants 
who  had  themselves  been  feasting  too  lavishly,  they  had 
already  persuaded  him  to  drink  another  cup  with  them. 

lago  now  did  his  best  to  lure  them  on  by  calling  for 
more  wine,  and  trolling  out  a  jovial  song  : 

"  And  let  me  the  canakin  clink,  clink  ; 
And  let  me  the  canakin  clink  ; 

A  soldier's  a  man  ; 

A  life's  but  a  span  ; 
Why  then  let  a  soldier  drink — drink  I" 


"  An  excellent  song  !" 

"  An  excellent  song  i  '  pronounced  Cassio,  whereupon 
lago  sang  another,  which  he  found  even  "  more  exquisite  '' 
than  the  first.  So  merrily  went  the  minutes  that  it  was 
not  until  much  later  that  the  new  lieutenant  remembered 
his  neglected  duties,  by  which  time  his  senses  were  quite 
confused  by  what  he  had  drunk. 


Well    met    at    Cyprus 

When  he  left,  I  ago  took  occasion  to  spread  a  bad  im- 
pression of  him  by  saying  what  a  pity  it  was  that  such 
a  good  soldier  should  be  spoilt  by  the  persistent  habit  of 
drink — in  fact,  that  he  never  went  sober  to  bed.  This, 
of  course,  was  an  absolute  falsehood,  but  the  gentlemen 
of  Cyprus  beheved  what  lago  said.  Montano  remarked 
it  was  a  pity  Othello  were  not  told  of  it  ;  perhaps  ]  ^  did 
not  know,  or  perhaps  his  good  nature  prized  the  virtue 
in  Cassio,  and  overlooked  the  ^jvil.  It  was  a  great  pity 
that  the  noble  Moor  should  hazard  such  an  important 
place  as  second  in  command  to  one  with  such  an  incurable 
fault.     It  would  be  right  to  say  so  to  Othello. 

"  Not  I,  for  this  fair  island,"  said  the  hypocritical  lago. 
"  I  love  Cassio  well,  and  would  do  much  to  cure  him  of 
thijb  evil. — But  hark  !  What  noise  ?"  for  there  was  a  cry 
without :  "  Help  !  help  !" 

The  next  instant  Cassio  entered  violently,  driving 
Rodsrigo  in  front  of  him  and  beating  him.  Montano 
interfered  to  protect  Roderigo,  whereupon  Cassio  turned 
on  him,  and  both  drawing  their  weapons,  Montano  was 
presently  wounded.  lago,  meanwhile,  had  sent  Roderigo 
to  run  and  cry  a  mutiny,  and  make  as  much  disturbance 
as  possible,  while  lago  himself  had  th  alarum-bell  set 
pealing,  and  shouted  noisily  in  all  directions,  contriving 
largely  to  increase  the  confusion,  under  pretence  of  re- 
storing order. 

Othello  was  speedily  on  the  scene,  and  with  prompt 
decision  at  on:e  silenced  the  uproar.  Then  he  asked 
for  an  explanation,  which  no  one  seemed  willing  to  give. 

"  Honest  lago,  that  lookest  dead  with  grieving,  speak : 
who  began  this  ?     On  thy  love,  I  charge  thee." 

371  AA  3 


Othello 

lago  mumbled  some  confused  excuses,  which  were 
certainly  not  intended  to  deceive  the  General.  Cassio, 
on  being  appealed  to,  now  completely  sobered  by  the 
shock,  answered  simply,  "  I  pray  you,  pardon  me  ;  I 
cannot  speak."  Montano  declared  that  he  was  too  much 
injured  to  say  anything  ;  Othello's  officer,  lago,  could  tell 
him  everything  ;  he  was  not  conscious  of  having  done  or 
said  anything  amiss. 

Othello  now  began  to  lose  patience,  and  knowing  the 
serious  danger  of  such  a  disturbance  in  the  present  un- 
settled condition  of  the  island,  he  curtly  commanded 
lago  to  let  him  know  how  the  brawl  began,  and  who 
set  it  on. 

With  feigned  reluctance,  but  with  much  secret  satis- 
faction, lago  gave  an  account  of  what  had  happened, 
taking  care  to  heighten  his  own  ignorance  of  the  affair, 
and  ostentatiously  pretending  to  try  to  shield  Cassio  from 
blame. 

Othello's  sentence  was  short  and  sharp. 

"  I  know,  lago,  thy  honesty  and  love  do  mince  this 
matter,  making  it  light  to  Cassio. — Cassio,  I  love  thee, 
but  never  more  be  officer  of  mine." 

When  Othello  and  the  others  had  retired,  lago,  seeing 
Cassio  standing  as  if  dazed,  went  up  and  asked  him  if 
he  were  hurt. 

"  Ay,  past  all  surgery,"  was  the  mournful  response. 

"  Marry,  Heaven  forbid  !"  said  lago,  startled. 

"  Reputation,  reputation,  reputation  !"  groaned  Cassic 
"  O,    I    have    lost    my   reputation  !      I    have    lost    the 
immortal    part    of    myself.     My    reputation,    lago,    my 
reputation  !" 

373 


Well    met    at    Cyprus 

"As  I  am  an  honest  man,  I  thought  you  had  received 
some  bodily  wound,"  scoffed  lago.  "  There  is  more 
sense  in  that  than  in  '  reputation'  "  And  he  tried  to 
cheer  up  Cassio  by  teUing  him  there  were  ways  in  which 
he  could  recover  the  General's  favour, — only  sue  to  him, 
and  he  would  soon  be  won  round. 

"  I  would  rather  sue  to  be  despised  than  deceive  so 
good  a  commander  with  so  slight,  so  drunken,  so  indis- 
creet an  officer,"  returned  the  contrite  Cassio. 

"  You  or  any  man  may  be  drunk  once  in  his  life,  man," 
urged  lago.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  you  shall  do."  And 
he  went  on  to  say  that  the  General's  wife  was  now  the 
General,  meaning  by  this  that  Othello  would  do  anything 
that  Desdemona  wanted.  lago  advised  Cassio  to  appeal 
to  Desdemona.  She  was  so  good  and  kind  that  she  always 
did  more  than  she  was  asked.  If  Desdemona  pleaded 
with  Othello  on  his  behalf,  lago  was  ready  to  wager  any- 
thing that  Cassio  would  soon  be  in  higher  favour  than 
ever. 

Cassio  was  grateful  to  lago  for  his  counsel,  which  the 
latter  protested  he  only  offered  in  love  and  honest  kind- 
ness, and  Cassio  resolved  early  the  next  morning  to  be- 
seech Desdemona  to  undertake  his  cause. 

lago  was  delighted  to  find  his  plot  working  so  smoothly. 
He  knew  that  the  more  earnestly  Desdemona  appealed 
on  behalf  of  Cassio,  the  more  fuel  there  would  be  to  feed 
Othello's  jealousy. 

Thus,  out  of  the  gentle  lady's  own  sweetness  and  good- 
ness lago  made  the  net  that  was  to  enmesh  them  all. 


373 


Othello 

The  Handkerchief 

In  accordance  with  his  resolve,  Cassio  appealed  the 
next  morning  to  Desdemona,  who  with  all  the  warmth 
of  her  affectionate  nature  undertook  his  defence,  and 
merrily  promised  to  give  her  husband  no  peace  until  he 
had  pardoned  the  offender.  Othello  approaching  at  that 
moment,  Desdemona  begged  Cassio  to  remain  and  hear 
her  speak,  but  the  young  lieutenant  was  too  much 
ashamed  to  face  his  General,  and  left  in  some  haste, 
lago  seized  this  chance  to  implant  the  first  seeds  of  sus- 
picion in  Othello,  by  exclaiming,  as  if  without  thinking, 
"  Ha  !     I  like  not  that." 

"  What  dcst  thou  say  ?"  asked  Othello. 

"  Nothing,  my  lord  ;  or  if — I  know^  not  what,"  said 
lago,  craftily  pretending  as  if  he  wished  to  withdraw  his 
words. 

"  Was  not  that  Cassio  parted  from  my  wife  ?" 

"  Cassio,  my  lord  !"  with  an  air  of  great  surprise.  "  No, 
sure,  I  cannot  think  it,  that  he  would  steal  away  so 
guilty-like,  seeing  you  coming." 

"  I  do  believe  it  was  he,"  persisted  Othello. 

"  How  now,  my  lord  ;  I  have  been  talking  with  a 
suitor  here,  a  man  that  languishes  in  your  displeasure," 
said  Desdemona,  coming  to  meet  her  husband. 

"  Who  is  it  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  your  lieutenant,  Cassio,"  answered  Dc  ^demona  ; 
and  then,  with  simple  eloquence,  she  began  to  plead  for 
the  culprit.  But  lago's  remark  had  ruffled  Othello's 
temper. 

"  Went  he  hence  now  ?"  he  asked  abrupt! v. 


The    Handkerchief 

"  Ay,  truly  ;  so  humbled  that  he  hath  left  part  of  hi^ 
grief  with  me,  to  suffer  with  him.  Good  love,  call  him 
back." 

"  Not  now,  sweet  Desdemona  ;  some  other  time." 

"  But  shall  it  be  shortly  ?" 

"  The  sooner,  sweet,  because  of  you,"  said  Othello, 
softening  a  little. 

"  Shall  it  be  to-night  at  supper  ?" 

"  No,  not  to-night." 

"  To-morrow  dinner,  then  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  dine  at  home  ;  T  meet  the  captains  at 
the  citadel  " 

"  Why,  then,  to-morrow  night ;  or  Tuesday  morning  ; 
or  Tuesday  noon,  or  night ;  or  Wednesday  morning.  I 
prithee,  name  the  time,  but  let  it  not  exceed  three  days," 
coaxed  Desdemona  with  playful  persistency.  And  she 
went  on  pleading  for  Cassio  with  such  winning  sweetness 
that  Othello  could  resist  no  longer. 

"  Prithee,  no  more  ;  let  him  come  when  he  will.  1 
can  deny  thee  nothing,"  he  exclaimed  ;  and  when  Desde- 
mona withdrew,  happy  at  the  promise  she  had  extorted, 
he  cried,  with  a  sudden  return  to  all  his  trust  and  affec- 
tion, "  Perdition  catch  my  soul,  but  I  do  love  thee  !  And 
when  I  love  thee  not,  chaos  is  come  again." 

All  might  now  have  been  well  if  lago  had  not  been  at 
hand  to  pour  his  poison  into  Othello's  ear.  With  dia- 
bolical cunning — a  hint  suggested  here,  a  half-retracted 
phrase  there,  an  affectation  of  honesty  that  seemed  always 
checking  itself  for  fear  of  speaking  too  openly — lago  con- 
trived to  fix  t  :e  basest  suspicions  on  Cassio.  With  subtle 
craft  he  made  it  appear  as  though  everything  he  said  were 

375 


Othello 

reluctantly  dragged  from  him,  and,  as  on  the  night  before, 
while  making  a  great  parade  of  trying  to  shield  Cassio,  he 
succeeded  in  blackening  him  with  unfounded  calumny. 

Not  content  with  this,  he  next,  in  a  serpent  -  like 
manner,  began  to  insinuate  suspicions  against  Desde- 
mona,  declaring  that  he  would  not  on  any  account  let 
Othello  know  what  was  m  his  thought,  and  beseeching 
him  in  the  most  meaning  tone  to  beware  of  jealousy. 
Those  who  were  jealous,  he  said,  lived  a  life  of  torture — 
ioating,  yet  doubting  ;  mistrusting,  yet  loving. 

"  Good  Heaven !  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe  defend  me 
from  jealousy  !"  he  ended  fervently. 

"  Why — why  is  this  ?"  demanded  Othello,  firing  up, 
just  a«;  lago  had  hoped  he  would  do.  "Do  you  think  I 
would  lead  a  life  of  jealousy,  to  follow  still  the  changes 
of  the  moon  with  fresh  suspicions  ?  No  ;  to  be  once  in 
doubt  is  once  to  be  resolved.  .  .  .  No,  lago  ;  I'll  see 
before  I  doubt  ;  when  I  doubt,  prove  ;  and  on  the  proof 
there  is  no  more  but  this — away  at  once  with  love,  and 
— jealousy'' 

lago  remarked  he  was  glad  of  that,  for  now  he  could 
show  the  love  and  duty  he  bore  Othello  more  frankly. 
Then  he  advised  Othello  to  watch  his  wife  closely,  and 
note  her  behaviour  with  Cassio,  afterwards  pretending  to 
draw  back,  and  urging  Othello  to  go  no  further  into  the 
matter,  but  to  leave  it  to  time.  So,  having  succeeded  in 
making  Othello  thoroughly  unhappy,  lago  took  his  leave. 

"  This  fellow's  of  exceeding  honesty,  and  knows  all 
qualities  of  human  dealings  most  skilfully,"  thought  the 
poor  deceived  Othello  ;  and  then,  as  Desdemona  herself 
came  in  sight,  innocence  and  candour  enthroned  on  her 

Z7^ 


The    Handkerchief 

brow,  for  a  moment  all  mistrust  melted.  "  If  she  be 
false,  0,  then  heaven  mocks  itself  !     I'll  not  beheve  it." 

Desdemona  had  come  to  remind  her  husband  that  dinner 
was  served,  and  that  the  islanders  invited  as  guests  were 
waiting.  Othello,  who  had  been  greatly  upset  by  his 
conversation  with  lago,  replied  in  such  a  faint  voice  that 
Desdemona  asked  if  he  were  ill. 

"  I  have  a  pain  upon  my  forehead  here,"  answered 
Othello. 

"  That's  with  watching.  Let  me  but  bind  it  hard  ; 
within  this  hour  it  will  be  well,"  said  Desdemona,  holdmg 
out  a  handkerchief  beautifully  embroidered  with  straw- 
berries. 

"  Your  napkin  is  too  httle,"  said  Othello,  puttmg  the 
handkerchief  from  him,  where  it  dropped,  unheeded,  to 
the  ground.     "  Let  it  alone.     Come,  I'll  go  in  with  you." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  are  not  well,"  said  Desde- 
mona with  the  simple  wistfulness  of  a  child. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  handkerchief  was  picked  up 
by  Emilia,  wife  of  lago,  who  was  very  glad  to  find  it, 
for  her  husband  had  often  begged  her  to  steal  it  for  him. 
But  Desdemona  so  loved  the  token — for  it  was  the  first 
remembrance  Othello  had  given  her,  and  he  had  begged 
her  never  to  part  with  it — that  she  always  kept  it  carefully 
about  her,  to  kiss  and  talk  to. 

"  I'll  have  the  work  taken  out,  and  give  it  to  lago," 
said  Emiha  to  herself.  "  What  he  will  do  with  it  Heaven 
knows,  not  I  ;  I  only  do  it  to  please  his  whim." 

But  Emiha  was  already  half  repenting  of  what  she  had 
done,  before  she  gave  the  handkerchief  to  lago,  and  she 
might  possibly  have  refused  to  part  with  it  at  all  if  lago 

377 


Othello 

had  not  put  an  end  to  the  matter  by  cunningly  snatching 
it  from  her  with  one  hand,  while  he  pretended  to  caress 
her  with  the  other.  Directly  it  was  safely  in  his  posses- 
sion he  dropped  the  amiable  tone  he  had  assumed,  and 
harshly  ordered  away  his  wife. 

lago  was  delighted  to  have  got  this  handkerchief,  for 
he  meant  to  make  a  wicked  use  of  it.  He  was  going  to 
lose  it  in  Cassio's  lodgings,  and  let  the  young  lieutenant 
find  it,  when  he  would  take  care  that  Othello  should 
think  it  was  a  present  from  Desdemona.  lago  knew  that 
"  Trifles  light  as  air  are  to  the  jealous  confirmation  strong 
as  proofs  of  holy  writ,"  and  seeing  Othello  approach,  he 
marked  with  fiendish  satisfaction  the  cloud  of  gloom  and 
trouble  that  rested  on  his  brow. 

"  Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora,  nor  all  the  drowsy 
syrups  of  the  world,  shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet 
sleep  which  thou  owned  yesterday,"  he  said  to  himself 
maliciously. 

Othello's  peace  of  mind  was,  indeed,  gone  for  ever, 
and  all  joy  and  interest  in  life  were  over. 

"Oh,  now,  for  ever,  farewell  the  tranquil  mind,  farewell 
content  !  Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars 
that  make  ambition  virtue  !  O,  farewell  !  Farewell  the 
neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump,  the  spirit-stirring 
drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife,  the  royal  banner,  and  all 
quality,  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war  1 
Farewell  !   Othello's  occupation's  gone." 

"  Is  it  possible,  my  lord  ?"  murmured  lago,  with 
feigned  sympathy. 

Othello  turned  on  him  with  sudden  fury,  and  gripped 
him  by  the  throat 

378 


The    Handkerchief 

"  Villain,  be  sure  you  prove  my  love  untrue  !     Be  sure 
of  it  !"  he  cried,  shaking  him  violently. 

lago  pretended  to   be  deeply  aggrieved   by  Othello's 


"  Villain,  be  sure  you  prove  my  love  untrue  !" 

distrust,  and  said  if  necessary  he  could  bring  proofs  of 
what  he  said. 

"  Tell  me  but  this,"  he  went  on  :  "  have  you  not  some- 
times seen  a  handkerchief,  spotted  with  strawberries,  in 
your  wife's  hand  ?" 

"  I  gave  her  such  a  one  ;  it  was  my  first  gift.' 

379 


Othello 

lagc  said  he  did  not  know  about  that,  but  such  a  hand- 
kerchief he  had  seen  in  Cassio's  possession  that  very 
day. 

Naturally,  after  that,  Othello  could  not  fail  to  beheve 
that  Desdemona  had  given  away  his  cherished  gift  to 
Cassio.  He  took  the  first  opportunity  to  ask  her  for  it, 
when,  of  course,  she  was  unable  to  produce  it.  She  had 
already  been  greatly  distressed  at  the  loss  of  her  treasure, 
and  now  was  so  alarmed  by  the  violent  way  in  which 
Othello  kept  demanding  it,  that  she  dared  not  own  it 
was  lost,  and  only  said  she  had  it  not  about  her  at  that 
moment. 

"  That  is  a  fault,"  said  Othello,  frowning  darkly. 
"  That  handkerchief  was  given  to  my  mother  by  an 
Egyptian.  She  was  a  charmer,  and  could  almost  read  the 
thoughts  of  people.  She  told  her,  while  she  kept  it,  it 
would,  make  her  amiable,  and  her  husband  would  love 
her ;  but  if  she  lost  it,  or  made  a  gift  of  it,  her  husband 
would  get  to  loathe  her.  She,  dying,  gave  it  me,  and 
bade  me,  when  my  fate  would  have  me  marry,  to  give  it 
to  my  wife.  I  did  so  ;  and  take  heed  of  it  !  Hold  it 
most  precious  ;  to  lose  it  or  give  it  away  were  such 
calamity  as  nothing  else  could  match." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  faltered  Desdemona. 

"  'Tis  true  ;  there's  magic  in  the  web  of  it  :  a  sibyl, 
who  numbered  in  the  world  two  hundred  years,  sewed 
the  work  ;  the  worms  were  hallowed  that  spun  the  silk, 
and  it  was  dyed  in  mummy,  which  the  skilful  conserved 
of  maidens'  hearts." 

"  Indeed  !  Is  it  true  ?"  said  Desdemona,  getting  more 
and  more  alarmed. 

380 


No    Way    but    Thi 


y 


IS 


"  Most  true.  Therefore  look  to  it  well,"  said  Othello  in 
a  threatening  manner. 

Desdemona  still  persisted  that  the  handkerchief  was 
Tiot  lost,  and  remembering  her  promise  to  Cassio,  she 
most  unwisely  chose  this  ill-starred  moment  again  to 
urge  her  suit.  Her  innocent  good-nature  was  the  final 
stroke  to  Othello's  jealous  wrath,  and  harshly  repeating, 
"  The  handkerchief  !  the  handkerchief  !"  he  strode  away 
in  ungovernable  fury. 

Worked  up  to  madness  by  the  diabolical  arts  of  lago, 
he  saw  in  his  young  wife's  apparent  simplicity  and  can- 
dour nothing  but  the  most  clever  deceit,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  punish  her  supposed  insincerity  in  the  most 
terrible  manner. 


No  Way  but  This 

Though  Othello  had  come  to  the  terrible  conclusion 
that  Desdemona  must  die,  he  could  not  prevent  his 
thoughts  dwelling  again  and  again  on  all  the  charm  and 
loveliness  of  his  dear  young  wife.  This  did  not  suit 
lago's  purpose,  for  he  was  afraid  lest  Othello  should  relent 
before  his  revenge  was  accomplished.  So  he  did  his 
utmost  in  every  way  to  incite  Othello  still  more  against 
Desdemona.  He  cunningly  reminded  him  of  Brabantio's 
parting  words,  and  said  if  Desdemona  had  deceived  her 
father  in  concealing  her  affection  for  Othello,  why  should 
she  not  equally  deceive  her  husband  in  concealing  her 
affection  for  someone  else  ? 

"  She  shall  not  live — no,  my  heart  is  turned  to  stone  ; 

381 


Othello 

1  strike  it,  and  it  hurts  my  hand,"  said  Othello.     Then, 
■'  O,  the  world  hath  not  a  sweet.r  creature  !" 

"  Nay,  that's  not  your  way,"  said  lago,  iU-pleased. 

"  I  do  but  say  what  she  is,"  returned  Ot^  ello.  "  So 
delicate  with  her  needle  ;  an  admirable  musician — O,  she 
will  sing  the  savageness  out  of  a  bear  ;  of  so  high  and 
plenteous  wit  and  invention " 

*'  She's  the  worse  for  all  this,"  said  lago. 

"  O,  a  thousand,  thousand  times,"  agreed  Othello  ;  then 
he  added  wistfully  :  "  And,  then,  of  so  gentle  a  condition  !" 

"  Ay,  too  gentle,"  sneered  lago. 

"  Nay,  that's  certain  ; — but,  yet,  the  pity  of  it,  lago ! 
O,  lago,  the  pity  of  it,  lago  !" 

But  one  might  better  have  appealed  ^or  compassion  to 
a  tiger  in  sight  of  his  prey.  lago  knew  nothing  of  pity. 
He  had  only  one  aim  in  view — to  gratify  his  revenge. 
If  Othello  would  kill  Desdemona,  he  said,  he  would 
undertake  Cassio. 

Emilia,  lago's  wife,  was  a  sharp-tongued,  outspoken 
woman,  devoted  to  her  young  mistress,  and  when  she 
saw  how  jealous  and  violent  Othello  was  becoming,  she 
did  not  scruple  to  tell  him  plainly  that  he  was  utterly 
wrong  in  his  distrust.  But  Othello,  urged  on  by  lago's 
cunning,  was  now  past  all  reason.  By  this  time  he  was 
firmly  convinced  that  Desdemona's  simple  sweetness  of 
manner  was  nothing  but  the  most  skilful  hypocris}^  and 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  put  her  out  of  the  world,  so  that 
she  should  betray  no  more  people. 

When  he  spoke  to  his  wife  that  day  after  his  interview 
with  lago,  his  words  were  so  strange  and  menacing  that 
Pesdemona  was  quite  frightened. 

382 


*'  Jpon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  impon 


No    Way    but   Th 


IS 


''  Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  import  ?'" 
she  cried  piteously.  "  I  understand  a  fury  in  your  words^ 
but  not  the  words." 

Othello  answered  with  a  torrent  of  angry  accusations, 
which  utterly  bewildered  Desdemona,  and  then  he  abruptly 
left  her,  while  Emiha  vainly  tried  to  soothe  and  comfort 
her.  This  good  woman  was  not  slow  to  express  her 
indignation  at  Othello's  shameful  behaviour,  and  loudly 
announced  her  opinion  that  he  was  being  deceived  by 
"  some  base  notorious  knave,  some  scurvy  fellow  !" 

"  Oh,  heaven,  that  thou  would'st  make  such  people 
known,  and  put  in  every  honest  hand  a  whip  to  lash 
the  rascals  naked  through  the  world,  even  from  the  east 
to  the  west  !"  she  cried,  with  flashing  eyes. 

This  was  not  very  pleasant  hearing  for  lago,  who  was 
standing  by,  and  he  harshly  told  Emilia  she  was  a  fool, 
and  bade  her  be  silent.  Then,  when  Desdemona  appealed 
to  him,  asking  what  she  should  do  to  win  her  lord  again, 
lago  pretended  to  think  it  was  only  a  little  ill-temper  on 
Othello's  part,  that  business  of  the  State  had  offended  him, 
and  consequently  he  was  out  of  humour  with  Desdemona. 

There  was  some  colour  for  this  suggestion,  for  a  special 
commission  had  just  arrived  from  Venice,  commanding 
Othello  to  return  home,  and  deputing  Cassio  as  Governor 
of  Cyprus  in  his  place. 

lago  saw  that,  if  he  wanted  to  dispose  of  Cassio,  there 
was  no  time  to  be  lost,  for  lago  himself  would  be  obliged 
to  leave  the  island  in  Othello's  suite.  He  therefore  con- 
trived to  incite  his  feeble-minded  tool  Roderigo  to  set  upon 
Cassio  in  the  dark  that  very  night  and  murder  him.  The 
attempt,   however,  was   not   successful.     Roderigo   only 

385  BB 


Othello 

managed  to  wound  Cassio,  and  was  himself  badly  injured 
in  return.  Some  passers-by — the  messengers  from  Venice 
— hearing  groans  in  the  street,  stopped  to  give  help,  but  it 
was  too  dark  to  distinguish  the  sufferers.  The  next  person 
to  arrive  on  the  scene  was  lago  himself,  with  a  light,  and 
coming  across  the  wounded  Roderigo,  and  fearing  he 
would  betray  his  share  in  the  plot,  he  treacherously 
stabbed  him  to  death.  Cassio  was  then  carefully  con- 
veyed away  for  his  wounds  to  be  dressed. 

That  night,  when  Desdemona  was  preparing  for  bed, 
a  strange  melancholy  seemed  to  take  possession  of  her. 
Emilia,  who  was  in  attendance,  tried  to  divert  her  mind 
by  getting  her  to  join  in  a  little  idle  talk,  but  Desdemona's 
thoughts  were  running  on  sad  themes. 

"  My  mother  had  a  maid  called  Barbara,"  she  said 
musingly.  "  She  was  in  love,  and  he  she  loved  proved 
mad,  and  did  forsake  her.  She  had  a  song  of  '  willow  ' : 
an  old  thing  it  was,  but  it  expressed  her  fortune,  and  she 
died  singing  it ;  that  song  to-night  will  not  go  from  my 
mind." 

And  presently,  as  Emilia  helped  her  to  disrobe,  Desde- 
mona began  singing  in  a  sweet,  plaintive  key  : 

"The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a  sycamore  tree, 

Sing  all  a  green  willow  ! 
Her  hand  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee, 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow  ; 
The  fresh  streams  ran  by  her,  and  murmured  her  moans, 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow  ; 
Her  salt  tears  fell  from  her,  and  softened  the  stones  i-^ 

Sing  willow,  willow,  v  illow. 

"  Sing  all  a  green  willow  must  be  my  garland  ; 
Let  nobody  blame  him,  his  scorn  I  approve. 

386. 


No    Way    but    This 

"  Nay,  that's  not  next.  Hark  !  Who  is  it  that 
knocks  ?" 

"  It's  the  wind,"  said  EmiHa. 

Desdemona  hstened  for  a  moment,  then  went  on  with 
her  song. 

"  I  called  my  love  false  love  ;  but  what  said  he  chen  ? 
Sing  willow,  willow,  willow  ;" 

Desdemona's  voice  faltered  and  stopped.  Emiha's 
duties  were  done,  and,  bidding  her  good-night,  Desde- 
mona let  her  depart,  and  presently  closed  her  sorrowful 
eyes  in  sleep. 

Now  had  come  the  moment  that  Othello  had  chosen 
for  his  dark  deed.  As  he  drew  near  and  saw  his  beautiful 
young  wife  lying  in  all  the  calm  repose  of  innocent  slumber, 
for  an  instant  his  soul  melted  with  pity  and  love,  and, 
bending  over  her,  he  kissed  her  tenderly.  But  once  more 
he  hardened  his  heart  by  thinking  of  the  cause  that  had 
led  him  to  decide  on  such  an  act,  and  a  fresh  wave  of 
jealous  fury  saddenly  taking  possession  of  him,  he  seized 
the  pillows,  and  held  them  over  Desdemona  until  life 
seemed  extinct. 

There  came  a  furious  knocking  at  the  door.  Emilia's 
voice  was  heard  outside,  demanding  admittance.  Othello 
paused  to  consider. 

"  What's  best  to  do  ?  If  she  come  in,  she'll  sure  speak 
to  my  wife.  My  wife  !  my  wife  !  What  wife  ?  I  have 
no  wife.     0,  insupportable  !     O,  heavy  hour  !" 

And  Othello  with  a  heavy  groan  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Again  came  the  knocking. 

"  I  do  beseech  you  that  I  may  speak  with  you,  O  good 
my  lord," 

387  BB  z 


Othello 


Othello  drew  the  curtains  of  the  bed,  and  unlocked  the 
door.  Emilia,  in  great  excitement,  had  come  to  bring 
the  news  of  Roderigo's  death.  As  she  was  speaking,  a 
strange  sort  of  moan  caught  her  attention.  She  knew  her 
lady's  voice,  and,  rushing  to  the  bed,  tore  aside  the  curtains. 
"Help!  help,  ho!  Help!  O  lady, 
speak  again  !  Sweet  Desdemona  !  O 
sweet  mistress,  speak  !" 

"  A    guiltless    death    I    die,"    mur- 
mured Desdemona. 

"  O,  who  hath  done  this  deed  ?" 
"  Nobody  ;     I     myself.       Farewell ! 
Commend   me   to   my   kind   lord.      O, 
farewell  !"     And  w^th  a  httle  sigh  the 
gentle  spirit  passed  away. 

Othello  immediately  declared  that 
Desdemona  had  spoken  falsely  ;  it  was 
he  who  had  killed  her.  Emilia  turned 
on  him  wdth  bitterest  rage  and  con- 
tempt, whereupon  he  began  to  explain 
his  reasons  for  what  he  had  done,  saying 
that  it  was  lago  who  had  revealed 
everything  to  him.  Emilia  could 
scarcely  beheve  such  a  thing.  She 
shouted  lustily  to  rouse  the  alarm,  and  when,  among 
others,  lago  himself  hurried  in,  she  taxed  him  with 
what  Othello  had  said. 

*'  I  told  him  w^hat  I  thought,  and  told  no  more  than 
what  he  found  himself  was  apt  and  true,"  said  lago, 
brazenly. 

"  You  told  a  lie,  an  odious,  damned  lie ;  upon  my  soul 

388 


"  I  told  him  what 
I  thought.'" 


No    Way    but    This 

a  lie,  a  wicked  lie,"  cried  the  distracted  Emilia,  and  it  was 
vain  for  lago  to  try  to  silence  his  wife ;  before  everyone 
she  proclaimed  him  for  the  villain  he  was. 

Alas,  poor  Othello,  he  began  to  see  he  had  been 
tricked.  But  one  point  he  still  clung  to — the  hand- 
kerchief. Dtsdemona  had  certainly  given  away  his 
cherished  gift  to  Cassio. 

"  O,  thou  dull  Moor!"  cried  EmiHa.  "The  handker- 
chief thou  speakest  of,  I  found  by  chance  and  gave  my 
husband,  for  often  with  solemn  earnestness  he  begged  of 
me  to  steal  it.  .  .  .  She  give  it  Cassio  ?  No,  alas  !  I 
found  it,  and  I  gave  it  to  my  husband." 

"  Thou  liest  !"  said  lago. 

"  By  heaven,  I  do  not — I  do  not,  gentlemen  !" 

Furious  against  his  wife,  lago  had  already  tried  once 
to  stab  her,  but  she  had  evaded  him,  and  the  other  men 
in  the  room  had  protected  her.  He  now  made  another 
attempt,  which  was  more  successful,  and  Emilia  fell  to 
the  ground. 

"  O,  lay  me  by  my  mistress's  side  !"  she  begged. 

And  there,  a  few  minutes  later,  she  died,  with  Desde- 
mona's  song  of  "Willow,  willow,  willow"  on  her  lips, 
and  protesting  with  her  dying  breath  the  innocence  of  her 
dear  lady. 

Now,  indeed,  the  end  had  come  for  Othello,  and  all  the 
anguish  of  unavailing  remorse  racked  his  soul. 

"  0,  Desdemona,  Desdemona  !  Dead  !"  his  heart- 
broken wail  rang  through  the  room. 

But  it  was  all  in  vain  now — vain  his  agony  of  love  and 
sorrow  ;  vain  his  pleading  ;  vain  his  scalding  tears  ;  vain 
the  bitter  scorn  with  which  he  lashed  his  guilt}^  spirit. 

^80 


Othello 

Cold,  cold,  pale  and  still,  lay  his  beautiful  young  wife, 
her  ears  deaf  to  all  voices  of  earth,  and  frozen  on  her  silent 
lips  the  smile  with  which  she  had  died. 

Othello's  power  and  command  were  taken  away,  and 
Cassio  ruled  in  Cyprus.  But  little  cared  Othello  for  this  ; 
all  worldly  ambition  was  over.  As  the  gentlemen  and 
officers  were  about  to  leave  the  chamber  of  death,  taking 
lago  with  them  as  their  prisoner,  Othello,  with  a  dignified 
gesture,  stayed  them. 

"  Soft  you  ;  a  word  or  two  before  you  go.  I  have  done 
the  State  some  service,  and  they  know  it  No  more  of 
that.  I  pray  you  in  your  letters,  when  you  shall  relate 
these  unlucky  deeds,  speak  of  me  as  I  am  ;  nothing 
extenuate,  nor  set  down  aught  in  malice.  Then  you  must 
speak  of  one  that  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well  ;  of  one 
not  easily  jealous,  but  being  wrought,  perplexed  in  the 
extreme  ;  of  one  whose  hand,  like  the  base  Indian,  threw 
a  pearl  away  richer  than  all  his  tribe.  .  .  .  Set  you  down 
this  ;  and  say  besides,  that  in  Aleppo  once,  where  a  malig- 
nant and  a  turbaned  Turk  beat  a  Venetian  and  traduced 
the  State,  I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog,  and 
smote  him — thus."  And  at  the  last  word  Othello 
plunged  a  dagger  into  his  heart. 

With  failing  strength  he  dragged  his  steps  to  the  bed, 
and  fell  on  the  dead  body  of  Desdemona. 

"  I  kissed  thee  ere  I  killed  thee,"  came  his  dying  whisper. 
"  No  way  but  this  :  killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a  kiss." 


390 


A  Princess  of  Britain 


'AUGHTER  of  Cymbeline,  King  of  Britain, 
and  his  acknowledged  heir,  Imogen  had 
fallen  into  deep  disgrace  at  Court,  and 
incurred  her  father's  severest  displeasure. 
Cymbeline  had  lately  married  a  second 
wife,  a  widow  with  one  son,  and  it  had 
occurred  to  both  the  King  and  Queen  that  it  would  be 
an  excellent  plan  for  Imogen  to  marry  this  youth.  But 
Cloten  was  a  clownish,  ill-conditioned  lout,  and  Imogen 
had  chosen  to  prefer  as  her  husband  a  poor  but  worthy 
gentleman.  Posthumus  Leonatus  had  been  her  play- 
fellow from  childhood,  for  his  parents  dying  when  he  was 
an  infant,  he  had  been  adopted  by  Cymbeline,  who  brought 
him  up  almost  as  his  own  son.     Though  the  King,  Queen, 

391 


Cymbeline 


and  Cloten  himself  were  enraged  at  the  choice  Imogen  had 
made,  and  the  courtiers  were  forced  to  appear  as  if  they 
followed  the  royal  example,  not  one  of  the  latter  but  was 
glad  at  heart  at  the  thing  he  pretended  to  scowl  at.  For 
while  Cloten  was,  as  one  gentleman  expressed  it,  "  a  thing 
too  bad  for  bad  report,"  Leonatus  was  a  man  endowed 
with  such  outward  personal  grace,  and  such  inward  nobihty 
of  soul,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  his  equal  through 
all  the  world.  Even  as  a  boy,  most  praised,  most  loved, 
he  had  come  unharmed  through  the  trying  ordeal  of 
being  a  Court  favourite,  drinking  in  all  branches  of  learn- 
ing as  lightly  as  others  do  air  ;  and  the  proof  of  his  ex- 
cellence was  evident  in  the  fact  that  so  peerless  a  lady  as 
Imogen  had  chosen  him  for  her  husband. 

But  Cymbeline,  untouched  by  his  merits,  was  indignant 
that  his  daughter  had  married  "  a  beggar  "  when  she 
might  have  had  the  only  son  of  the  Queen.  He  pro- 
nounced the  sentence  of  banishment  on  Leonatus,  and 
commanded  that  Imogen  should  be  imprisoned  at  Court, 
under  the  custody  of  her  step-mother. 

The  new  Queen  was  a  crafty,  designing  woman,  whose 
chief  aim  at  present  was  to  secure  the  future  throne  for 
her  boorish  son.  Cymbeline,  it  is  true,  had  had  two  sons 
of  his  own,  but  they  were  both  stolen  when  they  were 
little  more  than  babies,  the  eldest  being  only  three,  and 
the  youngest,  two  j'^ears  o!d.  From  the  day  of  their 
disappearance  no  trace  of  them  had  ever  been  found. 
The  Princess  Imogen  was  now  the  only  child,  and'  as 
Cymbeline's  heir,  the  Queen  was  anxious  to  entice  her 
into  a  marriage  with  her  son.  When  this  attempt  failed, 
the  Queen  did  not  scruple  to  ]^lan  other  and  darker  means 

392 


A    Princess    of    Britain 

to  accomplish  her  purpose.  She  had  some  knowledge 
of  medicine,  and  took  pleasure  in  making  perfumes  and 
preserves  from  all  sorts  of  herbs  and  simples.  Under 
pretence  of  perfecting  her  knowledge,  she  begged  from 
a  physician,  Cornelius — who  had  helped  her  with  her 
studies — some  most  poisonous  compounds,  which  would 
produce  a  languishing  death.  She  said  she  did  not  intend 
to  use  them  on  human  beings,  but  only  on  animals,  to 
try  their  power,  and  apply  the  antidote,  in  order  to  dis- 
cover their  respective  virtues  and  effects. 

The  good  physician  did  not  at  all  approve  of  such 
cruel  experiments.  He  knew  the  Queen's  evil  nature,  and 
would  not  trust  one  of  such  malice  with  drugs  of  so 
deadly  a  kind.  While,  therefore,  pretending  to  comply 
with  the  Queen's  request,  he  really  gave  her  some  harm- 
Jess  compounds  which  would  only  stupefy  and  dull  the 
senses  for  awhile,  but  do  no  ultimate  injury. 

It  was  well  that  Cornelius  acted  so  discreetly,  for  the 
Queen  lost  no  time  in  putting  her  wicked  schemes  into 
practice. 

When  Leonatus,  on  his  banishment,  departed  for  Rome, 
he  left  behind  him  a  most  faithful,  devoted  servant,  called 
Pisanio,  who  was  to  watch  over  and  attend  his  dear  wife. 
The  crafty  Queen  tried  to  win  over  Pisanio  to  her  interests, 
promising  him  large  bribes  if  he  would  influence  Imogen 
on  behalf  of  her  son.  But  Pisanio's  steadfast  fidelity 
was  not  to  be  shaken.  Seeing  that  all  her  fawning 
friendliness  was  not  likely  to  achieve  her  aim,  the  Queen 
tried  another  method  to  remove  Leonatus  from  her  path. 
While  talking  with  Pisanio,  she  cunningly  let  fall,  as  if 
by  accident,  the  little  box  of  drugs  wliich  she  had  obtained 

3Q3 


Cymbeline 


from  Cornelius.  When  Pisanio  picked  it  up,  and  would 
have  returned  it  to  her,  she  insisted  on  his  keeping  it,  as 
an  earnest  of  future  good  which  she  intended  to  bestow 
on  him,  explaining  that  it  was  a  wonderful  cordial  by 
which  she  had  five  times  redeemed  the  King  from  death. 
The  Queen  hoped  that  Pisanio,  wishing  to  do  his  master 
good,  would  give  him  some  of  this  cordial,  which  would 
certainly  prove  fatal.  After  the  death  of  Leonatus,  if 
Imogen  still  persisted  in  refusing  to  marry  Cloten,  the 
Queen  determined  that  she,  too,  should  have  a  taste  of  the 
poison,  when  the  way  would  be  clear  for  Cloten  to  ascend 
the  throne. 

While  these  things  were  happening  in  Britain,  Leonatus 
had  reached  Rome.  Here,  at  the  house  of  a  friend, 
Philario,  he  happened  to  meet  some  acquaintances  that 
he  had  known  m  younger  days — one  a  Frenchman,  and 
another  an  Italian  called  lachimo.  The  Frenchman 
reminded  him  of  a  quarrel  which  they  had  had  on  the 
occasion  of  their  former  meeting,  which,  he  said,  was  of 
a  slight  and  trivial  nature.  But  Leonatus,  with  his 
ripened  judgment,  would  not  admit  that  the  cause  of 
the  quarrel  was  altogether  slight. 

"  Can  we,  with  manners,  ask  what  was  the  difference  ?" 
inquired  lachimo. 

The  Frenchman  replied  that  a  dispute  had  arisen  as 
to  which  of  the  ladies,  whom  each  loved  in  his  own 
country,  was  to  be  most  praised  ;  and  that  Leonatus  had 
asserted  that  his,  in  Britain,  was  the  fairest,  most  virtuous, 
wise,  and  constant ;  and  that  her  favour  was  less  easily 
to  be  won  than  the  rarest  of  the  ladies  in  France. 

394 


A    Princess    of    Britain 

"  That  lady  is  not  now  living,  or  this  gentleman's 
opinion  is  by  this  time  worn  out,"  laughed  lachimo. 

"  She  holds  her  virtue  still,  and  I  my  mind,"  returned 
Leonatus. 

"  You  must  not  so  far  prefer  her  before  our  ladies  of 
Italy,"  said  lachimo,  still  in  the  same  jesting  way. 

But  Leonatus  was  in  earnest,  and,  in  spite  of  the  good- 
natured  bantering  of  the  others,  he  persisted  in  extolling 
the  charms  and  excellence  of  Imogen. 

At  their  parting  in  Britain  Imogen  had  given  her 
husband  as  a  remembrance  a  diamond  ring,  which  had 
been  her  mother's,  and  which  she  held  very  precious  ;  and 
Leonatus,  on  his  part,  had  clasped  on  her  arm  a  bracelet. 

lachimo  now  said  laughingly  that  if  only  he  had  the 
chance  of  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  Imogen  he 
would  soon  win  her  affection, — in  fact,  he  was  ready 
to  wager  the  half  of  his  estate  against  Leonatus's  ring 
that  there  was  no  lady  in  the  world  of  whom  he  could  not 
say  the  same. 

Leonatus  began  to  get  annoyed,  and  Philario  begged 
them  to  let  the  subject  drop.  But  lachimo  would  not  give 
in.  He  now  said  he  wished  he  had  wagered  his  whole 
estate.  He  would  lay  ten  thousand  ducats  against 
Leonatus's  ring  that  if  he  went  to  the  Court  of  Britain 
he  woald  bring  back  evidence  that  Imogen's  favour  was 
by  no  means  so  hard  to  win  as  Leonatus  imagined. 

Leonatus,  stung  by  lachimo's  remarks,  and  longing 
to  prove  the  faJsity  of  his  assertions,  and  to  punish  him 
for  his  impertinence,  said  he  would  accept  the  wager. 
But  he  would  wager  gold  against  lachimo's  gold  ;  the 
ring  he  held  as  dear  as  his  finger — it  was  part  of  it. 

395 


Cymbeline 


lachimo  accused  him  of  fearing  to  lose  the  wager,  and 
said  he  was  wise  in  dechning  to  risk  his  ring,  which  so 
irritated  Leonatus  that  he  accepted  the  challenge. 

"  I  dare  you  to  this  match  ;  here's  my  ring,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  I  will  not  have  this  wager,"  said  Philario. 

But  both  Leonatus  and  lachimo  declared  it  should  go 
on,  and  proceeded  to  settle  the  conditions,  and  to  have 
them  lawfully  recorded.  Only  Leonatus  further  deter- 
mined that,  if  lachimo  succeeded  in  winning  his  wager 
owing  to  Imogen's  fault  or  weakness,  Leonatus  would  cast 
off  his  wife  utterly  ;  she  was  not  worth  debate.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  lachimo's  advances  were  repulsed  with 
the  contempt  they  deserved,  lachimo  should  answer  with 
his  sword  for  his  impertinence. 

To  this  lachimo  agreed,  and  without  delay  he  started 
for  Britain. 

Arrived  at  the  Court  of  Cymbeline,  he  was  introduced 
to  Imogen  as  the  bearer  of  letters  from  Leonatus.  She 
received  him  with  charming  frankness  and  cordiality, 
delighted  to  welcome  one  of  whom  her  husband  wrote 
as  bestowing  much  kindness  on  him.  In  accordance 
with  a  plan  lachimo  had  thought  out,  he  replied  in  answer 
to  Imogen's  eager  questions  concerning  Leonatus  that 
he  was  quite  well,  exceedingly  pleasant,  and  very  merry 
and  gamesome — in  fact,  he  was  called  "the  Briton  reveller." 

Imogen  was  somewhat  surprised  and  a  little  hurt  to 
hear  this,  for  at  home  Leonatus  was,  if  anything,  of  a 
grave  and  melancholy  disposition. 

"  /  never  saw  him  sad,"  protested  lachimo  ;  and  further 
he  added,  Leonatus  always  laughed  loudly  when  one  of 

396 


A    Princess    of   Britain 

his  companions,  a  Frenchman,  seemed  sorrowful  because 
he  had  left  behind  him  in  his  own  country  a  lady  whom 
he  loved.  "  Fancy  a  man  sighing  for  the  bondage  of 
any  woman  !"  Leonatus  had  said. 

It  pained  Imogen  to  think  that  Leonatus  cared  so 
little  about  her,  as  lachimo's  words  implied  ;  but  when 
this  smooth-tongued  Italian  gentleman  went  on  to  pity 
her  for  the  way  in  which  her  husband  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  her,  and  counselled  her  to  take  revenge,  she 
began  to  be  on  her  guard. 

"  Revenge  ?"  she  said.  "  How  should  be  revenged  ? 
If  this  be  true,  how  should  I  be  revenged  ?" 

lachimo  replied  that  if  Leonatus  cared  so  little  about 
her  as  to  be  able  to  amuse  himself  happily  with  all  the 
most  riotous  companions  in  Rome,  why,  then,  let  Imogen 
waste  no  longer  any  thought  on  him,  but  bestow  her 
affection  on  one  who  was  ready  to  be  her  devoted  friend 
and  servant.  He — lachimo — would  never  neglect  her 
as  Leonatus  had  done. 

Imogen  interrupted  these  silky  speeches  with  indignant 
scorn,  and  ordered  lachimo  to  leave  her  presence  instantly. 
"  What  ho,  Pisanio  !"  she  cried,  to  summon  her  faithful 
attendant,  for  she  would  not  listen  to  another  word  from 
this  insulting  stranger. 

Then,  with  supple  guile,  lachimo  suddenly  changed  his 
tactics,  and  burst  into  the  most  glowing  praise  of  Leona- 
tus. He  implored  Imogen's  pardon,  and  declared  that 
all  he  had  said  was  quite  false,  and  only  to  test  her  love. 
Leonatus  was  one  of  the  best  and  truest  of  men — "  he 
sits  among  men  like  a  descended  god ;  he  hath  a  kind  of 
honour  sets  him  off,  more  than  mortal  seeming." 

397 


Cymbeline 


lachimo's  present  words  made  amends  to  Imogen  for 
his  unworthy  artifice,  and  she  pardoned  him,  and  resumed 
all  her  former  gracious  charm  of  manner. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  entreat  your  grace  in  a 
small  request,"  said  lachimo,  as  he  was  taking  his  leave. 
"And  yet  of  moment,  too,  for  it  concerns  your  lord; 
myself  and  other  noble  friends  are  partners  in  the  busi- 
ness." 

"  Pray,  what  is  it  ?"  asked  Imogen. 

lachimo  answ^ered  that  Leonatus  and  about  a  dozen 
of  his  friends  in  Rome  had  joined  together  to  buy  a  present 
for  the  Emperor.  He,  as  their  agent,  had  purchased 
this  in  France  ;  it  was  plate  of  rare  device,  and  jewels  of 
rich  and  exquisite  form.  They  were  of  great  value,  and 
being  a  stranger  in  Britain,  lachimo  was  anxious  to  have 
them  in  safe  keeping.  Might  he  beg  of  Imogen  to  take 
them  under  her  protection  ? 

"  WilHngly  ;  and  I  will  pledge  mine  honour  for  their 
safety,"  responded  Imogen.  "  Since  my  lord  hath  interest 
in  them,  I  will  keep  them  under  my  own  protection,  in 
my  bedchamber." 

"  They  are  in  a  trunk,  attended  by  my  men,"  said 
lachimo.  "  I  will  make  bold  to  send  them  to  you,  only 
for  this  night.  I  must  leave  to-morrow.  Therefore,  if 
you  please  to  greet  your  lord  with  writing,  do  it  to- 
night." 

"  I  will  write,"  said  Imogen.  "  Send  your  trunk  to 
me  ;  it  shall  be  safely  kept  and  faithfully  yielded  to  you. 
You  are  very  welcome." 


39S 


How    lachimo    won    his    Wager 

How  lachimo  won  his  Wager 

The  trunk  sent  by  lachimo  was  duly  placed  for  security 
m  Imogen's  chamber,  but  it  was  no  plate  or  jewels  that 
it  contained.  That  night,  when  the  Princess  slept,  a 
lighted  taper  still  burning  in  the  room,  and  near  at  hand 
the  book  she  had  been  reading  ere  she  fell  asleep,  the  lid 
of  the  trunk  was  lifted,  and  a  man  stepped  out.  It  was 
lachimo.  With  rapid  glance  he  surveyed  the  room,  care- 
fully studying  every  detail,  what  pictures  there  were, 
where  the  window  was  placed,  what  was  the  adornment 
of  the  bed,  the  arras,  the  figures  and  the  story  represented. 
But  even  this  was  not  sufficient  for  his  purpose.  He 
stealthily  approached  the  bed,  and  while  Imogen  lay 
wrapt  in  deep  sleep,  he  slipped  from  her  arm  the  bracelet 
which  Leonatus  had  given  her,  noting  at  the  same  time, 
on  the  pure  whiteness  of  her  skin,  a  little  mole  with  five 
spots,  like  the  crimson  spots  in  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip. 
Next  he  took  up  the  book  she  had  been  reading,  looked 
carefully  at  the  title,  and  observed  the  exact  passage  in 
the  tale  where  she  had  left  off.  Then,  satisfied  with  his 
ignoble  work,  he  went  back  into  the  trunk.  The  lid  shut 
with  a  spring,  and  once  more  there  was  apparently  nothing 
in  the  room  to  disturb  the  innocent  serenity  of  the  sleeping 
Princess. 

In  the  morning  early  came  an  unwelcome  suitor. 
Cloten,  the  Queen's  son,  had  been  advised  to  try  the  effects 
of  music  on  the  hard-hearted  lady,  who  unceasingly 
repulsed  his  advances.  He  therefore  ordered  some 
musicians  to  attend  outside  her  chamber  window,  and 
smg  a  charming  little  "  aubade  "--that  is.  a  song  ot  the 

399 


Cymbeline 


nature  of  a  serenade,  but  sung  at  dawn  to  waken  the 
sleeper  instead  of  during  the  night.  The  song  chosen 
was  an  especially  pretty  one,  with  a  wonderfully  sweet 
air,  and  Cloten  hoped  it  would  not  fail  to  touch  Imogen's 

heart. 

"  Hark,  hark  I  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 
And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  Hes  ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 
With  every  thing  that  pretty  is, 
My  lady  sweet,  arise  ; 
Arise,  aiise  !" 

Imogen  liked  the  pretty  music,  but  she  was  sorry  not 
to  be  able  to  thank  Cloten  properly  for  his  trouble,  for 
she  disliked  him  as  heartily  as  ever,  and,  vexed  by  his 
importunity,  was  forced  to  tell  him  so.  Cloten  tried  to 
persuade  her  to  give  up  her  husband,  saying  that  the 
contract  which  she  pretended  with  that  "  base  wretch, 
one  bred  of  alms,  and  fostered  with  cold  dishes,  with  scraps 
of  the  Court,"  was  no  contract,  and  that  the  marriage 
could  easily  be  dissolved. 

Imogen,  furious  that  this  contemptible  creature  should 
thus  dare  to  insult  the  noble  Leonatus,  indignantly  heaped 
scorn  on  Cloten,  telling  him  that  he  was  too  base  even  to 
be  her  husband's  groom ;  that  he  would  be  too  much 
honoured,  and  be  worthy  of  envy,  if  he  were  styled  the 
under  hangman  of  his  kingdom.  In  short,  she  ended, 
the  meanest  garment  that  Leonatus  had  ever  worn  was 
dearer  in  her  eyes  than  a  hundred  thousand  men  such  as 
Cloten. 

Imogen  had  already  had  cause  that  morning  for  grave 

400 


How    lachimo    won    his    Wager 

distress,  for  she  had  discovered  the  loss  of  her  bracelet, 
and  was  greatly  upset  about  it.  Leaving  her  clownish 
wooer  to  brood  sullenly  over  this  unusual  plain-speaking 
(for  all  the  gentlemen  at  Court  flattered  and  fawned  on 
Cloten  to  his  face,  though  they  roundly  abused  him 
behind  his  back),  Imogen  now  called  her  faithful  Pisanio, 
and  bade  him  tell  her  waiting-woman  to  make  the  most 
careful  search  for  the  missing  jewel. 

"  It  was  thy  master's  ;  I  would  not  lose  it  for  a  revenue 
of  any  King's  in  Europe.  I  think  I  saw  it  this  morning  ; 
I  am  confident  last  night  it  was  on  my  arm  ;  I  kissed  it. 
I  hope  it  be  not  gone  to  tell  my  lord  that  I  kiss  aught  but 
him,"  she  ended,  with  a  melancholy  attempt  at  a  little 
jest. 

Alas,  poor  Imogen,  if  she  had  only  known  how  fatally 
near  the  truth  came  her  hghtly-spoken  words  ! 

At  that  same  moment  lachimo  was  speeding  back  to 
Rome  with  his  unwelcome  tidings.  At  first  Leonatus 
took  for  granted  that  lachimo  must  have  lost  his  wager  ; 
he  had  an  answer  ready  for  everything  that  the  latter 
could  say  ;  but  little  by  little  the  wily  Italian  contrived 
to  make  it  appear  that  Imogen  had  been  far  too  generous 
in  the  favours  and  friendliness  she  had  lavished  on  this 
stranger.  He  had  seen  her  chamber,  he  said,  and  forth- 
with he  described  all  the  tapestry  of  silk  and  silver  with 
which  it  was  hung.  The  chimney  was  south  of  the  room, 
and  the  story  of  the  huntress  Diana  was  wonderfully 
carved  as  the  subject  of  the  chimney-piece.  The  roof 
of  the  chamber  was  fretted  with  golden  cherubs  ;  the 
andirons  on  the  hearth  were  two  winking  Cupids  of  silver, 
each  standing  on  one  foot. 

401  cc 


Cymbeline 


Leonatus  was  forced  to  admit  that  all  this  was  true  ; 
but  still,  he  said,  it  did  not  prove  that  lachimo  had  won 
his  wager. 

Then,  with  a  self-assured  air  of  triumph,  lachimo 
produced  the  bracelet,  which  he  declared  Im^ogen  had 
taken  from  her  arm  to  give  him. 

Leonatus,  with  one  last  effort  to  preserve  his  belief  in 
Imogen's  love  and  fidelity,  suggested  that  perhaps  she 
had  taken  off  the  bracelet  to  send  it  to  him. 

"  She  writes  so  to  you,  doth  she  ?"  asked  lachimo 
cunningly.  But  alas,  Imogen's  letter,  which  he  had  himself 
conveyed,  made  no  mention  of  such  a  fact. 

"  O,  no,  no,  no  !  It's  true.  Here,  take  this  too  !" 
cried  Leonatus,  handing  lachimo  the  ring  which  he  had 
wagered.  And  he  broke  out  into  a  torrent  of  despairing 
scorn  for  the  utter  falsehood  and  inconstancy  of  all  women. 

"  Have  patience,  sir,  and  take  your  ring  again,"  coun- 
selled Philario,  who  all  through  this  interview  had  keenly 
distrusted  the  plausible  lachimo.  "  It  is  not  yet  won. 
Probably  Imogen  lost  the  bracelet ;  or  who  knows  if 
one  of  her  women,  being  bribed,  has  not  stolen  it  from 
her  ?" 

"  Very  true,  and  so  I  hope  he  came  by  it,"  said  Leonatus. 
"  Return  me  my  ring,  and  give  me  some  stronger  proof 
than  this,  for  the  bracelet  was  stolen." 

Then  lachimo  told  of  the  little  mole  which  he  had 
noticed  on  the  white  skin  of  Imogen,  and  Leonatus  could 
no  longer  refuse  to  admit  that  he  had  lost  his  wager. 

He  had  loved  Imogen  so  deeply,  so  tenderly,  he  had 
placed  such  absolute  trust  m  her  perfect  goodness  and 
truth,  that  the  shock  of  discovering  her  falsehood  and 

402 


The    Cave    of   Belarius 

inconstancy  was  a  terrible  one.  All  women  were  alike, 
he  thought  bitterly ;  there  was  no  fault  in  man  that 
woman  did  not  have  in  greater  measure — lying,  flattery, 
deceit,  revenge,  ambition,  self-indulgence,  covetousness, 
pride,  disdain,  luxury,  slander,  fickleness — every  fault 
that  could  be  named,  was  found  more  abundantly  in 
woman  than  in  man. 

So,  maddened  by  the  supposed  treachery  of  his  peerless 
wife,  the  unhappy  Leonatus  began  to  brood  thoughts  of 
dark  revenge. 

The  Cave  of  Belarius 

About  this  time  there  came  to  the  Court  of  Cymbeline 
emissaries  from  the  Roman  Emperor,  demanding  the 
annual  tribute  of  three  thousand  pounds  which  Julius 
Caesar  had  exacted  from  the  conquered  Britons,  and  which 
latterly  Cymbeline  had  neglected  to  pay  to  his  successor, 
Augustus  Caesar. 

On  hearing  the  demand  brought  by  Caius  Lucius,  the 
Ambassador,  the  Queen  at  once  took  it  upon  herself  to 
urge  Cymbeline  not  to  pay  the  tribute,  and  Cloten,  in 
his  foolish  manner,  chimed  in  with  silly  defiance  and 
childish  insults.  With  more  dignity,  Cymbeline  con- 
firmed the  words  of  the  Queen,  and  declined  to  pay, 
whereupon  Caius  Lucius  pronounced  a  declaration  of  war 
against  Britain  in  the  name  of  his  master  Augustus 
Caesar. 

His  unwelcome  duty  done,  he  was  then  ready  to  enjoy 
the  hospitality  which  Cymbeline  courteously  offered  to 
h'm  during  the  remaining  day  or  two  of  his  visit  to  the 

403  cc  3 


Cymbeline 


Court,  after  which  the  King  sent  him  with  a  safe  conduct 
and  an  honourable  escort  to  Milford  Haven,  and  forth- 
with began  his  preparations  for  war. 

In  the  meantime  other  messages  had  also  come  from 
Rome — letters  to  Pisanio  and  to  Imogen.  The  one  to 
Pisanio  contained  a  terrible  command.  The  one  to 
Imogen  fiUed  her  heart  with  joy.  She  was  bidden  to  set 
off  at  once  to  Milford  Haven,  where  Leonatus  stated  he 
was  at  that  time,  and  where  he  wished  his  wife  to  join 
him.  Imogen  was  all  excitement  and  eagerness  to  be 
off ;  she  begged  Pisanio  with  pretty  impatience  to  tell 
her  how  quickly  they  could  get  to  Milford  Haven,  and 
chid  him  for  the  slowness  of  his  reckoning.  Her  quick 
wit  at  once  devised  a  scheme  whereby  she  could  escape 
unnoticed,  and  in  the  guise  of  her  waiting-woman  she 
contrived  to  slip  out  of  the  palace  to  where  Pisanio  was 
ready  to  conduct  her  on  her  journey. 

But  alas,  poor  lady,  on  the  road  to  Milford  Haven  a 
terrible  awakening  awaited  her.  Pisanio  showed  her  the 
letter  he  had  received  from  Leonatus,  and  there  she  read 
of  the  crime  of  which  he  accused  her,  and  that  Pisanio 
had  orders  to  put  her  to  death.  Knowing  herself  blame- 
less, Imogen  was  nearly  killed  by  the  cruel  words,  and  in 
heart-broken  accents  she  begged  Pisanio  to  strike  at  once, 
and  obey  his  master's  bidding.  But  Pisanio  indignantly 
flung  his  sword  away,  refusing  to  stain  his  hand  with  such 
a  deed.  He  had  only  brought  her  thus  far,  he  said,  to 
think  out  what  was  best  to  be  done.  His  m_aster  must 
certainly  have  been  deceived  ;  some  villain,  peculiarly 
skilful  in  hi^,  art,  had  done  this  injury.  Pisanio  said  he 
would  give  notice  to  Leonatus  that  Imogen  was  dead. 

404 


The    Cave    of   Belarius 

sending  some  token  of  the  fact  as  he  had  been  com- 
manded. Imogen  would  be  missed  at  Court,  and  that 
would  confirm  his  words. 

"  Why,  good  fellow,  what  shall  I  do  the  while  ?  Where 
bide  ?  How  live  ?"  asked  poor  Imogen.  "  Or  what 
comfort  shall  I  take  in  life  when  I  am  dead  to  my  hus- 
band ?" 

Pisanio  asked  if  she  would  like  to  return  to  Court,  but 
Imogen  declared  she  would  have  no  more  of  Court,  or 
father,  or  the  clownish  Cloten,  who  had  so  pestered  hei 
with  his  love  suit.  Pisanio  said  that  if  she  would  not 
stay  at  Court  she  could  not  remain  in  Britain,  whereupon 
Imogen  asked  were  there  not  other  places  in  the  world 
than  Britain  where  the  sun  shone  ?  In  the  volume  of 
the  world,  the  little  isle  of  Britain  was  no  more  than  a, 
swan's  nest  in  a  great  pool. 

Pisanio  was  glad  she  was  willing  to  think  of  other  places, 
and  went  on  to  suggest  a  scheme,  daring  indeed,  but  which 
Imogen  was  only  too  glad  to  accept.  This  was  nothing 
less  than  that  Imogen  should  disguise  herself  as  a  page, 
and  seek  service  with  the  Roman  Ambassador,  Lucius ; 
then  she  could  go  with  him  to  Rome,  where  she  would  be 
living  near  Leonatus,  and,  even  if  she  did  not  see  him, 
she  could  hear  hourly  reports  of  his  doings.  Pisanio, 
with  this  end  in  view,  had  taken  care  to  provide  himself 
with  the  dress  of  a  page,  which  he  now  handed  over  to 
Imogen.  Lucius  was  to  arrive  on  the  following  day  at 
Milford  Haven,  and  Pisanio  advised  Imogen  to  go  there 
to  meet  him,  and  offer  her  services,  which  he  would 
probably  accept.  Pisanio  himself  must  now  return  to 
the  palace,  in  case  his  absence  should  give  rise  to  sus- 

405 


Cymbeline 


picion,  but  from  the  mountain-top  where  they  stood  he 
pointed  out  Milford  Haven,  and  it  seemed  within  easy 
distance.  Finally,  before  taking  leave,  he  gave  Imogen 
the  Httle  box  of  drugs  which  the  Queen  had  presented  to 
him,  telhng  her  that  it  contained  some 
precious  cordial  that  v/ould  cure  her 
if  ever  she  were  ill.  So  the  faithfu^ 
servant  bade  farewell  to  his  dearly 
loved  mistress. 

Poor  Imogen  set  out  with  a  brave 
heart  on  her  perilous  adventure,  but 
the  town  that  had  looked  so  near 
seemed  to  recede  as  she  walked  towards 
it.  For  two  days  and  nights  she  wan- 
dered on,  almost  spent  with  hunger, 
and  making  the  ground  her  bed.  At 
last  she  came  to  an  opening  in  the 
side  of  the  m.ountain,  which  looked  as 
if  it  were  used  for  some  kind  of  habi- 
tation, for  a  path  led  to  the  low  en- 
trance. Imogen  found  it  was  a  cave, 
evidently  furnished  for  use.  At  first 
she  was  afraid  to  enter,  not  knowing 
what  danger  might  lurk  inside,  but  hunger  made  her 
valiant.     She  called,  but  no  one  answered. 

"  Ho  !  Who's  there  ?  If  anything  that's  civil,  speak. 
Ho  !  No  answer  ?  Then  I'll  enter.  Best  draw  my 
sword  ;  and  if  mine  enemy  but  fear  the  sword  as  I 
do,  he'll  scarcely  look  at  it.  Grant  such  a  foe,  kind 
heaven !" 

So,  timid  and  quavering,  in  her  boy's  tunic,  with  her 

406 


Best  draw  my  sword. 


The    Cave    of   Belarius 

short,  broad-bladed  sword  gripped  in  her  trembhng  hand, 
Imogen  pushed  aside  the  brushwood  an    entered  the  cave. 

She  had  not  long  disappeared  when  the  real  owners 
of  the  cave  approached.  These  were  an  elderly  man 
of  commanding  presence  and  two  noble-looking  youths 
of  twenty-two  and  twenty-three  years  old.  In  spite  of 
their  rustic  and  almost  savage  garb  of  hunters,  there 
was  an  air  of  unmistakable  distinction  about  all  three  ; 
to  the  frank  brow  and  free  step  of  the  mountaineer  the 
lads  joined  a  princely  grace  of  bearing  which  told  of  high 
birth  and  noble  breeding. 

Their  appearance  did  not  behe  them,  for  these  boys 
were  no  other  than  the  two  sons  of  Cymbeline,  stolen  in 
their  infancy  by  a  banished  lord  in  revenge  for  an  act  of 
great  injustice.  Belarius  had  been  a  gallant  soldier, 
first  among  the  best,  and  much  beloved  by  Cymbeline, 
by  whose  side  he  had  often  fought  the  Romans.  But  at 
the  very  height  of  his  renown  he  was  suddenly  reduced 
to  the  deepest  disgrace,  not  for  any  fault  of  his  own,  but 
because  two  villains,  whose  false  oaths  prevailed  before 
his  perfect  honour,  swore  to  Cymbeline  that  he  was  con- 
federate with  the  Romans.  Then  followed  his  banish- 
ment and  his  theft  of  the  two  young  Princes  ;  and  so  for 
twenty  years  he  had  lived  this  wild  life  among  the  Welsh 
mountains,  bringing  up  the  boys  as  if  they  had  been  his 
own  sons,  and  training  them  in  all  sorts  of  manly  exercises. 
In  this  new  existence  Belarius  called  himself  "  Morgan  "  ; 
Cymbeline's  eldest  son  Guiderius  went  by  the  name  of 
"  Polydore  "  ;  and  the  younger,  Arviragus,  was  known 
as  "  Cadwal." 

Weary  and  hungry  with  a  long  day's  hunting,  and  look- 

407 


Cymbeline 


ing  forward  to  a  good  meal  from  the  spoils  of  the  chase, 
these  three  were  about  to  enter  their  cave,  when  a  sudden 
sign  from  Belarius  stopped  the  other  two. 

"  Stay  ;  come  not  in.  But  that  it  eats  our  victuals, 
I  should  think  here  were  a  fairy,"  said  Belarius. 

"  What's  the  matter,  sir  ?''  asked  Guiderius,  the  elder 
boy. 

"  By  Jupiter,  an  angel  !  Or,  if  not,  an  earthly  paragon  ! 
Behold  divineness  no  elder  than  a  boy  !"  cried  Belarius, 
as  Imogen,  alarmed  by  the  sound  of  voices,  came  to  the 
entrance  of  the  cave. 

Terrified  at  the  sight  of  these  newcomers,  who,  for 
their  part,  stood  gazing  in  bewilderment  at  this  strange 
intruder,  she  began  a  hasty  apology. 

"  Good  masters,  harm  me  not.  Before  I  entered  here, 
I  called,  and  thought  to  have  begged  or  bought  what  I 
have  taken.  Good  troth,  I  have  stolen  nothing,  and 
would  not,  though  I  had  found  gold  strewed  on  the  floor. 
Here's  money  for  my  meat  ;  I  would  have  left  it  on  the 
board  as  soon  as  I  had  made  my  meal,  and  parted  with 
prayers  for  the  provider." 

"  Money,  youth  ?"  exclaimed  the  elder  Prince  disdain- 
fully. 

"  All  gold  and  silver  rather  turn  to  dirt  !"  added  the 
second. 

"  I  see  you  are  angry,"  said  Imogen  piteously.  "  Know, 
if  you  kill  me  for  my  fault,  I  should  have  died  if  I  had  not 
made  it." 

"  Whither  bound  ?"  asked  Belarius. 

"  To  Milford  Haven." 


What's  your  name  ?" 


408 


.i;  '':\fT 


^  V 


The    Cave    of   Belarius 

"  Fidele,  sir.  I  have  a  kinsman  who  is  bound  for  Italy  ; 
he  embarked  at  Milford,  to  whom  being  on  my  way,  almost 
spent  with  hunger,  I  am  fallen  into  this  offence." 

"  Prithee,  fair  youth,  think  us  no  churls,  nor  measure 
our  good  minds  by  this  rude  place  we  live  in,"  said 
Belarius  kindly.  "  Well  encountered  !  'Tis  almost 
night  ;  you  shall  have  better  cheer  ere  you  depart,  and 
thanks  to  stay  and  eat  it.     Boys,  bid  him  welcome." 

At  Belarius's  words  the  two  young  Princes  stepped 
forward,  and  with  the  most  courteous  grace  did  their 
best  to  comfort  the  timid  wayfarer,  trying  with  gentle 
words  to  put  him  at  his  ease,  and  saying  affectionately 
they  would  love  and  welcome  him  like  a  brother. 

And  so,  cheered  and  comforted,  and  led  by  the  younger 
lad's  arm  thrown  protectingly  around  her,  the  poor 
wanderer  entered  the  rude  cave,  which  love  and  courtesy 
made  so  fair  an  abiding-place. 


Fidele 

The  absence  of  Imogen  was  not  long  in  being  discovered 
at  Court.  The  Queen  secretly  rejoiced,  for  she  hoped 
that  Imogen  had  either  killed  herself  in  despair,  or  gone 
to  rejoin  her  husband,  in  which  latter  case  she  would  be  too 
deeply  dishonoured  ever  to  return.  Either  of  these  would 
forward  the  Queen's  aim,  for  Imogen  being  disposed  of, 
she  would  have  the  placing  of  the  British  crown. 

Cymbeline  was  so  enraged  at  his  daughter's  disappear- 
ance that  no  one  dared  go  near  him.  But  Cloten,  meeting 
Pisanio  as  he  returned  to  the  palace,  forced  from  him  the 

411 


Cymbeline 


letter  which  Leonatus  had  written  ':o  Imogen,  telling  her 
to  meet  him  at  Milford  Haven.  This  put  into  Cloten's 
boorish  head  a  brilliant  scheme  of  revenge.  He  had  not 
forgotten  Imogen's  disdainful  taunt  that  she  held  in  more 
respect  "  the  meanest  garment  "  of  Leonatus  than  the 
noble  person  of  Cloten,  together  with  the  adornment  of 
his  qualities.  Cloten  now  procured  from  Pisanio  a  suit 
of  clothes  that  had  belonged  to  Leonatus.  He  intended 
to  dress  himself  in  these,  and  to  go  in  pursuit  of  Imogen. 
He  reckoned  on  finding  her  at  Milford  Haven  with  her 
husband,  where  he  promised  himself  the  pleasure  of 
slaying  Leonatus  in  front  of  her  eyes,  in  the  very  garments 
she  had  seen  fit  to  honour  so  much,  after  which  he  intended 
to  drive  Imogen  back  to  Court  with  the  roughest  and 
most  insulting  treatment  he  could  devise. 

Such  was  the  alluring  plan  which  presented  itself  to 
the  brain  of  this  amiable  creature,  but  the  reality  did  not 
happen  quite  in  accordance  with  the  design  he  had  sketched. 

Following  in  the  track  of  Imogen,  he  managed  to  trace 
her  to  the  cave  which  now  sheltered  her.  There,  happening 
to  fall  in  with  Belarius  and  the  two  young  Princes,  Cloten 
at  once  began  his  usual  style  of  bullying  insult.  Recog- 
nising him  for  the  Queen's  son,  and  fearing  some  ambush 
which  threatened  danger  to  them,  Belarius  and  Arviragus 
started  to  search  for  any  enemies  that  might  be  hidden 
near,  leaving  the  elder  lad  to  deal  with  the  intruder. 
The  haughty  spirit  of  Guiderius  was  certainly  not  framed 
to  brook  the  uncalled-for  insolence  of  this  blusterer,  and 
when  Cloten  addressed  him  as  "  a  robber,  a  law  breaker,  a 
villain,'  and  bade  him  "  Yield  thee,  thief  !"  Guiderius 
retorted  with  equal  scorn. 

4x2 


Fidele 

"  Hence,"  he  said  disdainfully,  "  thou  art  some  tool ;  I 
am  loath  to  beat  thee." 

"  Thou  injurious  thief,  hear  but  my  name,  and  tremble," 
cried  the  silly  youth. 

"  What's  thy  name  ?" 

"  Cloten,  thou  villain." 

"  Cloten,  thou  double  villain,  be  thy  name,  I  cannot 
tremble  at  it,"  said  Guiderius  contemptuously.  "  Were 
it  Toad,  or  Adder,  or  Spider,  it  would  move  me  sooner." 

"  To  thy  further  fear — nay,  to  thy  utter  confusion — 
thou  shalt  know  I  am  son  to  the  Queen,"  said  Cloten 
braggingly. 

"I  am  sorry  for  it,  not  seeming  so  worthy  as  thy 
birth." 

"  Art  not  afraid  ?"  demanded  Cloten. 

"  Those  that  I  reverence,  those  I  fear — the  wise," 
answered  Guiderius.     "  At  fools  I  laugh,  not  fear  them." 

"  Die  the  death  !"  cried  Cloten,  springing  at  him. 
"  When  I  have  slain  thee  with  my  own  hand,  I'll  follow 
those  that  even  now  fled  hence,  and  on  the  gates  of  Lud's 
town  set  your  heads.     Yield,  rustic  mountaineer." 

But  the  "  rustic  mountaineer  "  had  no  intention  of 
yielding,  and  it  was  the  head  of  the  foolish  Cloten  that 
presently  paid  the  penalty  for  its  owner's  blustering 
insolence. 

Safe  in  the  love  and  protection  of  her  unknown  brothers, 
Imogen  had  lived  for  some  few  days  in  their  cave,  making 
bright  the  rude  dwelling  with  little  womanly  graces. 
Her  new  friends  had  taken  her  straight  to  their  hearts, 
and  in  especial  Arviragus,  the  younger  Prince,  felt  for 

413 


Cymbeline 

this  stranger  a  deep  attachment  which  he  was  unable  to 
explain.  But  all  united  in  praise  of  Fidele.  Belarius 
noted  his  noble  bearing  and  gracious  manners,  which 
spoke  of  good  breeding.  "  How  angel-like  he  sings  !" 
put  in  Arviragus  ;  and  Guiderius  commended  the  dainti- 


"  Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done." 

ness  of  his  cooking,  which  served  dishes  fit  for  the  banquet 
of  some  goddess. 

But  there  came  a  day  when  Imogen  could  not  attend 
as  usual  to  her  little  household  duties  ;  she  was  very 
ill.  Belarius  bade  her  remain  in  the  cave,  and  said 
they  would  come  back  to  her  after  their  hunting. 
Guiderius  offered  to  remain  at  home  with  her,  but  Imogen 
would  not  hear  of  it.  So,  with  many  parting  words  of 
affection  at  last  they  left  her.     Remembering  the  little 

414 


Fidele 

box  of  drugs  that  Pisanio  had  given  her  as  a  wonderful 
cordial,  Imogen  now  resolved  to  try  its  power.  But 
instead  of  curing  her  at  once,  the  effect,  as  the  good 
physician  Cornelius  had  foreseen,  was  to  send  her  off 
into  a  heavy  sleep  which  seemed  exactly  like  death. 

On  their  return  from  hunting,  Arviragus,  running  into 
the  cave  to  look  for  Imogen,  found  her  lying  on  the  floor, 
her  hands  clasped,  her  right  cheek  reposing  on  a  cushion. 
Thinking  her  asleep,  Arviragus  took  off  his  rough  brogues, 
in  order  that  he  might  tread  softly.  But  alas,  he  soon 
found  that  no  step  or  voice  could  awaken  Fidele  from  the 
smiHng  slumber  in  which  he  lay. 

Stricken  with  grief,  the  two  Princes  prepared  a  bier 
to  carry  their  dear  young  comrade  to  the  place  of  burial, 
Arviragus  saying  that  while  summer  lasted,  and  as  long 
as  he  lived  near,  he  would  sweeten  the  sad  grave  with 
fairest  flowers. 

Then,  as  they  bore  him  on  the  bier,  they  spoke  in  turn 
a  tender  dirge,  for  their  hearts  were  too  full  of  grief  to 
allow  them  to  sing  it. 

"  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 

Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages  ; 
Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages : 
Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must. 
As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

"  Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great  ; 

Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke  ; 
Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat ; 

To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak  ; 
The  sceptre,  learning,  physic,  must 
AH  follow  this,  and  come  to  dust. 


Cymbeline 


"  Fear  no  more  the  lightning  flash, 

Nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder-stone  , 
Fear  not  slander,  censure  rash, 

Thou  hast  finished  joy  and  moan  : 
All  lovers  young,  all  lovers  must 
Consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

"  No  exorciser  harm  thee  ! 
Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee 
Ghost  unlaid  forbear  thee  ! 
Nothing  ill  come  near  thee  ! 
Quiet  consummation  have  ; 
And  renowned  be  thy  grave  !" 

Grief  for  the  loss  of  Imogen  had  for  a  moment  causea 
the  death  of  Cloten  to  be  forgotten  ;  but  Belarius  re- 
minded the  young  Princes  that,  after  all,  he  was  a  Queen's 
son,  and  though  they  had  killed  him  as  a  foe,  they  must 
bury  him  as  a  Prince.  Fetching  the  dead  body,  therefore, 
they  placed  it  not  far  from  the  bier  where  Imogen  lay, 
and  strewed  both  with  flowers. 

Soon  after  the  mourners  had  retired,  Imogen  woke 
from  the  sleep  into  which  the  drug  had  thrown  her.  As 
she  recovered  her  dazed  senses,  she  presently  became 
aware  that  near  at  hand  lay  a  dead  man,  and  recognising 
the  garments  of  Leonatus,  she  at  once  took  for  granted 
that  it  was  indeed  her  husband  who  had  been  thus  cruelly 
slain.  Struck  to  the  heart  by  this  new  sorrow,  she  flung 
herself  half  fainting  on  the  body,  and  there  soon  after- 
wards she  was  found  by  the  Roman  General,  Lucius. 
Pitying  her  desolate  condition,  for  he  thought  thi's  lad 
in  his  page's  dress  was  weeping  over  his  dead  master, 
Lucius  took  Imogen  into  his  own  service. 

On  hearing  of  Cymbehne's  refusal  to  pay  tribute,  the 
Roman  Emperor  lost  no  time  in  sending  over  an  army 

416 


Fidele 

to  enforce  his  demand.  The  rival  forces  met  near  Milford 
Haven,  not  far  from  the  cave  of  Belarius.  Hearing  the 
noise  of  warfare,  Belarius  first  suggested  flight  to  the 
upper  mountains  for  better  security,  but  the  noble  spirit 
of  the  two  young  Princes  scorned  such  cowardly  counsel, 
and  they  boldly  determined  to  throw  in  their  lot  with  the 
British  in  fighting  the  enemy  of  their  country. 

Leonatus  also  at  this  crisis  had  returne:'  f^om  Rome, 
and,  disguised  as  a  poor  soldier,  he  fought  in  the  ranks  ot 
the  British.  Meeting  lachimo,  who  was  commanding 
the  Roman  troops,  Leonatus  fought  with  him  on  the 
battle-field  and  vanquished  him.  The  proud  Roman 
was  deeply  mortified  that  a  noble  knight  like  himself 
should  be  overcome  and  disarmed  by  one  whom  he 
imagined  to  be  a  low  churl.  Repentance  for  the  base 
way  in  which  he  had  behaved  to  Imogen  stirred  in  his 
heart  ;  he  thought  it  was  the  guilt  and  heaviness  of  his 
own  soui  that  in  this  combat  had  unnerved  his  manhood 
and  enfeebled  his  arm.  As  for  Leonatus,  he  fought  in 
reckless  despair,  his  grief  for  Imogen's  murder,  which  he 
believed  Pisanio  to  have  carried  out,  making  him  long  for 
the  death  which  seemed  to  shun  him. 

The  valour  of  Guiderius  and  Arviragus  had  soon  an 
opportunity  of  displaying  itself.  The  British,  sorely 
bested,  were  in  act  of  flight,  and  Cymbeline  had  been 
captured  by  the  Romans,  when  Belarius  and  the  two 
Princes  went  to  his  assistance,  and  with  the  aid  of  Leo- 
natus succeeded  in  rescuing  the  King.  By  their  desperate 
courage  they  drove  back  the  flying  Britons,  and  forced 
them  to  rally  and  resist  the  foe,  and  finally  achieve  a 
brilliant  victory. 

417  DD 


Cymbeline 

After  the  skirmish,  some  British  soldiers  coming  across 
Leonatus,  took  him  for  a  fugitive  from  the  Romans,  and 
put  him  into  prison.  Leonatus  was  ready  to  welcome 
bondage,  for  it  was  a  way,  as  he  looked  at  it,  to  liberty. 
Death  was  the  key  that  would  unbar  those  locks  ;  his 
conscience  was  more  heavily  fettered  than  his  hmbs.  It 
was  not  enough  to  be  sorry;  he  longed  to  die.  For 
Imogen's  dear  hfe,  which  he  had  stolen  from  her,  he 
would  gladly  yield  up  his  o\mi. 

When,  therefore,  the  gaolers  came  the  following  morn- 
ing to  lead  him  forth  to  death,  Leonatus  told  them  he 
was  more  than  ready — he  was  merrier  to  die  than  they 
to  live.  Another  messenger  arriving  \Wth  an  order  that 
his  fetters  were  to  be  knocked  off,  and  that  he  was  to  be 
conducted  to  the  King,  Leonatus  followed  him  willingly, 
believing  that  at  last  the  moment  for  death  had  come. 

Cymbehne  was  seated  in  his  tent,  and  at  his  side  stood 
his  three  preservers — the  aged  warrior,  \\ith  white  flowing 
beard,  and  the  two  gallant  striplings.  A  fourth  was 
missing,  and  Cymbeline  lamented  for  him — a  poor  soldier, 
he  said,  who  fought  so  nobly  that  his  rags  shamed 
gilded  arms.  Anyone  who  found  him  should  receive  the 
highest  favour  from  the  King.  No  one  could  give  tidings 
of  this  hero,  but  Cymbeline  proceeded  to  confer  the  honour 
of  knighthood  on  the  three  other  champions,  and  to 
appoint  them  companions  to  his  o\mi  person,  with  dignities 
becoming  their  estate. 

At  this  moment  there  came  an  interruption, — Cornelius, 
the  physician,  entered  ;  he  brought  the  news  that  the 
wicked  Queen's  life  was  ended,  and  that  before  her 
death  she  had  confessed  all  her  villainy — her  duplicity 

418 


Fidele 

towards  Imogen,  and  her  intention  of  poisoning  both 
her  and  Cymbehne,  in  order  to  secure  the  crown  for 
her  own  son.  The  strange  disappearance  of  Cloten,  for 
whose  sake  she  had  wrought  so  much  evil,  and  the  conse- 
quent failure  of  all  her  schemes,  made  her  grow  desperate, 
and  so  in  despair  she  died.  Cymbeline  could  not  but  be 
moved  by  the  account  of  this  unsuspected  treachery  on 
the  part  of  his  wife,  for  she  was  as  beautiful  in  person  as 
she  was  wicked  in  mind,  and  he  had  been  quite  deceived 
by  her.  His  thoughts  now  began  to  turn  with  tenderness 
to  the  innocent  daughter  whom  he  had  treated  with  such 
unjust  severity. 

Lucius,  the  Roman  General,  was  next  led  as  prisoner 
before  the  King.  He  was  ready  to  accept  with  manly 
dignity  the  doom  of  death  which  he  presumed  would  be 
meted  out  to  him,  but  he  petitioned  as  a  last  favour  that 
the  life  of  his  little  page  might  be  spared. 

"  Never  master  had  a  page  so  kind,  so  duteous,  diligent, 
so  tender  on  occasion,  so  deft  and  careful,"  pleaded 
Lucius.  "  He  hath  done  no  Briton  harm,  though  he 
hath  served  a  Roman.  Save  him,  sir,  and  spare  no  blood 
beside." 

Lucius's  generous  plea  was  scarcely  needed,  for  Cymbe- 
line, touched  by  some  deep  feeling  which  he  could  not 
explain,  had  already  been  won  over  to  the  boy's  side, 
and  now  not  only  granted  him  his  life,  but  said  he  might 
ask  what  favour  he  chose,  even  if  it  were  to  demand  the 
noblest  prisoner  taken. 

Lucius  naturally  expected  that  Fidele  would  take  this 
opportunity  to  beg  for  his  master's  life,  but  Imogen  had 
seen  lachimo  standing   among  the  other  prisoners,  and 

419  DD  2 


Cymbeline 


noticing  on  his  finger  the  diamond  ring  which  she  had 
given  to  Leonatus,  she  begged  as  her  favour  of  the  King 
that  lachimo  should  be  bidden  to  say  of  whom  he  had 
received  the  ring. 

lachimo,  who  had  long  bitterly  repented  of  his  unworthy 
deed,  now  made  a  true  confession  of  all  that  had  happened, 
lavishing  praise  on  Leonatus  and  his  peerless  wife,  and 
heaping  all  the  blame  upon  himself.  Leonatus,  who  had 
been  standing  in  the  background,  unable  to  contain  him- 
self when  he  heard  how  cruelly  he  had  been  tricked, 
would  gladly  have  killed  lachimo  on  the  spot,  and  then 
died,  himself,  with  grief  and  shame. 

"  O  Imogen  !  My  queen,  my  life,  my  wife  !"  he  cried, 
frantic  with  despair  at  the  tragedy  he  had  himself  wrought. 
"  O  Imogen,  Imogen,  Imogen  !" 

But,  happily,  the  calamity  was  not  past  remedy. 
Imogen  herself  was  at  hand,  and  soon  everything  was 
put  right.  Belarius  restored  to  Cymbeline  the  two  boys 
stolen  in  infancy,  and  in  the  joy  of  finding  them  again, 
Cymbeline  pardoned  the  offender. 

"I  lost  my  children,"  he  said;  "if  these  be  thsy,  I 
know  not  how  to  wish  a  pair  of  worthier  sons." 

The  young  Princes  welcomed  with  rapture  their  dear 
young  comrade  Fidele,  whom  they  had  mourned  as  dead, 
and  who  was  now  given  back  to  them  as  their  own  beloved 
sister. 

To  Caius  Lucius,  the  Roman  General,  Cymbeline,  with 
royal  generosity,  announced  that  though  the  victor,  he 
would  henceforth  pay  to  Augustus  Caesar  the  rightful 
tribute  he  demanded,  which  his  wicked  Queen  had  dis- 
suaded him  from  doing. 

420 


Fidele 

The  poor  soldier  whom  CymbeUne  was  desirous  of 
thanking  turned  out  to  be  no  other  than  Leonatus,  his 
own  son-in-law. 

Even  lachimo  met  with  mercy.  In  deep  contrition  he 
knelt  before  Leonatus,  saying  humbly  : 

"  Take  that  life,  I  beseech  you,  which  I  owe  you  ;  but 
your  ring  first ;  and  here  the  bracelet  of  the  truest  Princess 
that  ever  swore  her  faith." 

"  Kneel  not  to  me,"  said  Leonatus.  "  The  power  that 
I  have  over  you  is  to  spare  you  ;  the  mahce  towards  you, 
to  forgive  you  ;  live,  and  deal  with  others  better." 

"  Nobly  doomed  !"  pronounced  Cymbeline.  "  We  will 
learn  generosity  of  our  son-in-law.  Pardon's  the  word 
to  all" 


421 


At  the  Palace  of  Leontes 


'^ 

Tl 

— " 

• 

\ 

1 

-< 

fe 

.         c:>--       ■    f 

EONTES,  King  of  Sicilia,  and  Polixenes, 
King  of  Bohemia,  had  always  been  the 
closest  and  dearest  friends.  Trained 
together  in  childhood,  and  as  boys  never 
apart,  a  deep-rooted  affection  had  sprung 
up  between  them,  and  when  the  neces- 
sities of  their  royal  birth  and  dignities  made  separation 
necessary,  by  calling  each  to  rule  over  his  own  kingdom, 
they  still  kept  up  the  warmest  intercourse  by  gifts,  letters, 
and  loving  embassies.  Both  in  due  course  married. 
Hermione,  wife  of  Leontes,  was  a  noble  and  beautiful 
woman,  and  they  had  one  child,  a  princely  boy  called 
Mamillius.  Polixenes,  in  Bohemia,  had  also  one  boy, 
Florizel,  within  a  month  of  the  same  age  as  Mamillius. 
When  the  children  were  five  years  old,  Polixenes  came  to 

422 


At    the    Palace    of   Leontes 

pay  a  visit  to  Leontes,  and  for  many  months  he  remained 
in  SiciHa,  renewing  the  happy  days  of  boyhood  with  his 
old  friend,  and  made  cordially  welcome  by  Hermione  for 
the  sake  of  her  husband. 

But  at  last  the  time  came  when  Polixenes  must  turn 
his  steps  homeward  ;  he  had  been  long  absent  from 
Bohemia,  and  matters  of  state  required  his  presence. 
Leontes  pressed  him  warmly  to  remain,  even  if  it  were 
only  for  a  few  days  longer,  but  Polixenes  was  firm. 
Then  Leontes  bade  his  wife  try  her  powers  of  persuasion. 
Glad  to  please  her  husband,  and  liking  their  visitor  for 
his  own  sake,  Hermione  merrily  announced  that  she  abso- 
lutely refused  to  let  Polixenes  go.  It  was  useless  for  him 
to  pretend  excuses  ;  Bohemia  was  getting  on  very  well 
without  him.  Polixenes  must  learn,  she  said,  that  a 
lady's  ''Verily"  was  just  as  potent  as  a  lord's  ;  and  she 
had  said  ''  Verily  "  he  must  stay,  either  as  her  prisoner  or 
her  guest — he  could  take  his  choice,  whichever  he  preferred, 
but  one  of  them  he  certainly  should  be. 

Polixenes  could  not  be  so  churlish  as  to  resist  such  a 
sweet  pleader,  and  accordingly  he  said  he  would  stay  for 
another  week.  But  no  sooner  was  this  point  settled  than 
a  strange  fit  of  jealous  rage  took  possession  of  Leontes. 
To  his  unhappy  temper  it  seemed  that  Hermione  was 
showing  far  too  much  affection  to  this  friend  of  his,  and 
he  was  enraged  that  Polixenes  had  consented  to  do  for 
her  what  he  had  refused  to  do  for  himself.  With  growing 
wrath  he  watched  their  light-hearted  cordiality,  for 
Hermione  was  gay  and  joyous  by  nature,  and  her  innocent 
playfulness  was  always  ready  to  sparkle  forth  in  merry 
words.     Instead  of  trying  to  banish  his  sullen  suspicions 

4'^3 


The    Winter's    Tale 

Leontes  chose  to  keep  brooding  o\-er  them,  and  presently 
they  overmastered  his  reason  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
confided  them  to  one  of  his  lords,  called  Camillo,  and 
ordered  him  to  find  means  of  poisoning  Polixenes. 

In  vain  did  the  honest  old  courtier  try  to  argue  with 
Leontes,  begging  him  to  put  aside  such  delusions,  for  the}^ 
were  most  dangerous,  and  protesting  there  was  no  truth 
whatever  in  them.  Leontes  refused  to  listen  to  reason, 
and  Camillo  thought  the  best  plan  was  to  appear  to  \4eld. 
He  therefore  said  he  would  undertake  to  get  rid  of 
Polixenes,  provided  that  after  he  was  gone,  Leontes  would 
promise  to  treat  his  Queen  exactly  the  same  as  formerly. 
This,  Leontes  replied,  it  was  his  intention  to  do. 

Camillo,  however,  instead  of  poisoning  Polixenes, 
warned  him  of  the  danger  he  was  in,  and  the  King  of 
Bohemia,  already  put  on  his  guard  by  the  frowning  looks 
which  met  him  in  all  directions,  determined  to  leave  at 
once.  Knowing  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  continue 
in  the  service  of  Leontes  when  the  latter  discovered  what 
he  had  done,  Camillo  accepted  an  offer  from  Polixenes  to 
join  his  followers,  and  the  two  left  Sicilia  that  very  night. 

Leontes,  hearing  of  their  hasty  departure,  was  more 
convinced  than  ever  in  his  suspicions,  and  in  spite  of  the 
indignant  remonstrances  of  all  his  lords,  his  next  step 
was  to  order  the  miprisonment  of  his  noble  Queen.  Not 
long  after  she  was  shut  up  in  prison,  Hermione  had  a  little 
bab\'  girl,  but  in  his  fury  against  his  \viie  Leontes  refused 
to  see  his  little  daughter,  or  to  treat  her  in  am-  way  as 
a  child  of  his  owti. 

All  the  Court  ladies  were  devoted  to  their  beloved 
Queen,  and  not  one  of  them  but  believed  in  her  innocence, 

424 


At    the    Palace    of   Leontes 

and  was  indignant  at  the  cruel  way  in  which  she  was 
treated.  But  not  contented  with  simply  pitying  her,  one 
of  them,  Paulina,  wife  of  the  lord  Antigonus,  determined 
to  make  an  effort  to  get  justice  dene.  She  thought  that 
perhaps  at  the  sight  of  the  innocent  little  child,  the  King's 
stubborn  heart  might  relent.  Paulina  was  a  woman  of 
firm  and  dauntless  character.  She  went  to  the  prison, 
calmly  carried  off  the  infant  in  the  face  of  some  feeble 
objections  from  the  gaoler,  then,  proceeding  to  the  palace, 
she  insisted  on  making  her  way  into  the  presence  of  the 
King.  Leontes  ordered  her  to  be  removed,  but  the  spirited 
lady  drew  herself  up  with  such  an  air  of  defiance  that  for 
a  moment  no  man  dared  lay  hands  on  her. 

"  Of  my  own  accord  I  will  go,  but  first  I'll  do  my 
errand,"  she  said  haughtily.  Then,  kneeling  before  the 
King,  she  placed  the  child  at  his  feet.  "  The  good  Queen 
— for  she  is  good — hath  brought  you  forth  a  daughter," 
she  said.  "  Here  it  is ;  she  commends  it  to  your 
blessing." 

But  her  appeal  was  useless.  With  uncontrolled  fury 
Leontes  bade  her  be  gone,  and  to  take  the  child  with  her. 
Paulina  cared  nothing  for  his  wild  torrent  of  abuse,  but 
unflinchingly  expressed  her  opinion  that  he  was  acting 
in  a  most  senseless  manner,  and  said  that  his  cruel  usage 
of  the  Queen  would  make  him  scandalous  to  the  world. 

The  outspoken  lady  was  at  last  hustled  away,  but  she 
left  the  child  behind  her,  bidding  the  King  look  to  it. 
Paulina's  husband,  Antigonus,  had  taken  up  the  infant 
in  pity,  and  now  Leontes  turned  on  him  with  fury,  accus- 
ing him  of  having  set  on  his  wife,  and  ordering  him  to  take 
away  the  child  and  kill  it. 

425 


The    Winter's    Tale 

Antigonus  respectfully  denied  that  he  had  set  on  his 
wife,  and  the  other  lords  confirmed  what  he  said,  and 
further  besought  on  their  knees  that  Leontes  would  relent 


"  She  commends  it  to  your  blessing." 

from  his  horrible  purpose.  Softening  a  little,  Leontes 
grudgingly  consented  that  the  child  might  live,  but  he 
forthwith  commanded  Antigonus,   on  his   allegiance,   to 

426 


At    the    Palace    of   Leontes 

viarry  it  away  to  some  remote  and  desert  place  quite  out 
of  his  dominions,  and  there  leave  it,  without  more  mercy, 
to  its  own  protection  and  the  favour  of  the  climate. 
Chance  might  nurse  it,  or  end  it. 

Antigonus,  though  sore  at  heart,  did  as  he  had  sworn 
to  the  King  he  would  do,  and  carried  away  the  child. 
That  night,  as  he  was  in  the  ship  that  conveyed  them  away 
from  the  domain  of  Sicilia,  there  came  to  him  a  dream. 
The  spirit  of  Hermione  stood  before  him,  clad  in  pure 
white  robes,  her  eyes  flashing  fire.  When  their  fury  was 
spent,  she  spoke  thus  : 

"  Good  Antigonus,  since  Fate,  against  thy  better  dis- 
position, had  made  thy  person  for  the  thrower-out  of  my 
poor  babe,  according  to  thine  oath,  there  are  places  remote 
enough  in  Bohemia  ;  there  weep,  and  leave  it  crying. 
And  because  the  babe  is  counted  lost  for  ever,  prithee 
call  it  Perdita.  For  this  ungentle  business,  put  on  thee 
by  my  lord,  thou  never  more  shalt  see  thy  wife 
Paulina." 

And  so,  wailing,  the  vision  melted  into  the  air. 

In  accordance  with  this  dream,  Antigonus  carried  the 
babe  into  the  country  of  Bohemia.  Unable  to  weep, 
but  his  heart  bleeding  for  pity  at  the  cruel  deed  which 
his  oath  enjoined  on  him,  he  placed  it  tenderly  on  the 
ground.  As  he  turned  away  he  was  pursued  by  a  savage 
bear,  which  made  him  take  to  instant  flight.  He  had  not, 
therefore,  the  happmess  of  knowing  that  the  little  child 
found  a  speedy  preserver,  for  within  a  few  minutes  an 
aged  shepherd,  in  search  of  some  strayed  sheep,  came  that 
way. 

"  Good  luck,  what  have  we  here  ?"  he  cried  in  astonish- 

427 


The    Winter's    Tale 

ment.  "  Mercy  on  us,  a  bairn  ! — a  very  pretty  bairn  ! 
A  boy  or  a  girl  I  wonder.  A  pretty  one — a  very  pretty 
one  !  I'll  take  it  up  for  pity  ;  yet  I'll  tarry  till  my  son 
come.     He  hallooed  but  even  now.     Whoa,  ho,  hoa  !" 

The  shepherd's  son,  coming  up  to  wonder  over  the 
strange  discovery,  soon  noticed  there  was  a  heap  of  gold 
hidden  away  in  the  costly  wrappings  of  the  little  foundling. 
and  rejoicing  in  their  luck,  the  rustics  carried  Perdita 
home  to  their  shepherd's  cottage. 


The  Oracle  Speaks 

Leontes,  in  order  to  avoid  the  reproach  of  tyranny 
which  he  feared  his  people  had  only  too  much  reason  to 
fasten  on  him,  decreed  that  the  Queen  should  be  openly 
tried  in  a  court  of  justice,  and  herself  appear  in  person 
to  answer  the  charges  he  had  seen  fit  to  bring  against  her. 
He  had  despatched  messengers  to  the  Temple  of  Apollo, 
at  Delphos,  to  consult  the  Oracle,  and  on  their  return 
the  trial  was  appointed  to  take  place.  The  messengers 
had  brought  back  the  answer  of  the  Oracle  in  a  sealed 
cover,  and  at  the  proper  moment  during  the  trial  the 
seals  would  be  broken  and  the  verdict  would  be  read  in 
open  court. 

Hermione's  answer  to  the  accusations  brought  against 
her  was  an  indignant  denial.  She  declared  that  she  had 
never  had  for  Polixenes  more  affection  than  was  right 
and  fitting  for  any  honourable  lady  to  have  for  her  guest, 
such  an  affection  as  Leontes  himself  had  commanded  her 
to  bestow  on  the  friend  who  had  loved  him  from  infancy. 
She  had  never  conspired  with  Camillo  against  Leontes  ; 

428 


The    Oracle    Speaks 

all  she  knew  was  that  Camillo  was  an  honest  man,  and 
she  was  entirely  ignorant  why  he  had  left  the  court. 

The  only  effect  these  words  had  on  Leontes  was  to 
make  him  more  violent  than  before.  He  told  his  wife 
that  as  she  had  already  been  past  ah  shame,  so  she  was 
now  past  all  truth,  and  he  threatened  her  with  the  punish- 
ment of  death. 

"  Sir,  spare  your  threats,"  said  Hermione  with  noble 
dignity.  "  The  spectre  you  would  frighten  me  with,  I 
seek.  To  me  life  is  no  great  thing  to  be  desired.  The 
crown  and  comfort  of  my  life — your  favour — is  lost, 
for  I  feel  it  to  be  gone,  though  I  know  not  how  it  went. 
My  second  joy — my  first-born  child — I  am  debarred  from 
his  presence,  like  one  infectious.  My  third  comfort — 
my  dear  little  innocent  baby — has  been  torn  from  me. 
I  have  myself  been  branded  with  disgrace  on  every  hand. 
And,  lastly,  I  have  been  hurried  here  to  this  place,  in  the 
open  court,  while  I  am  still  weak  and  ill,  and  unfitted  to 
appear.  Now,  my  liege,  tell  me  what  blessings  I  have  here 
while  I  am  alive,  that  I  should  fear  to  die  ?  Therefore 
proceed.  But  yet,  hear  this  :  mistake  me  not,  I  do  not  beg 
for  life ;  I  prize  it  not  a  straw.  But  for  mine  honour,  I 
will  not  have  that  condemned  without  any  proof  except 
what  your  jealous  surmises  awake.  My  lords,  I  refer  me 
to  the  Oracle.     Apollo  be  my  judge  !" 

The  councillors  present  declared  that  Hermione's 
request  was  altogether  just,  and  ordered  the  messengers 
from  Delphos  to  be  summoned.  The  latter  then  handed 
to  the  officer  of  the  court  the  sealed  letter  from  the  Oracle, 
which  he  forthwith  opened  and  read  in  the  presence 
of  aU. 

429 


The    Winter's    Tale 

The  Oracle  spoke  thus  : 

"  Hermione  is  innocent ;  Polixenes  blameless  ;  Camillo 
a  true  subject  ;  Leontes  a  jealous  tyrant  ;  the  innocent 
babe  is  his  daughter  ;  and  the  King  shall  live  without  an 
heir  if  that  which  is  lost  be  not  found." 

"  Now  blessed  be  the  great  Apollo  !"  shouted  all  the 
lords. 

"  Praised  !"  cried  Hermione. 

"  Hast  thou  read  truth  ?"  demanded  Leontes. 

"  Ay,  my  lord,  even  so  as  it  is  here  set  down,"  said  the 
officer  of  the  court. 

"  There  is  no  truth  at  all  in  the  Oracle,"  exclaimed 
Leontes.  "  The  trial  shall  proceed  ;  this  is  mere  false- 
hood." 

But  at  that  instant  came  a  terrible  shock  to  the  head- 
strong King.  A  servant  entered  with  the  mournful 
tidings  that  the  young  Prince,  the  noble  boy  Mamillius, 
was  dead.  The  separation  from  his  beloved  mother, 
and  dread  as  to  her  possible  fate,  had  so  wrought  on  the 
imagination  of  the  sensitive  child  that  he  had  died  of  grief. 

On  hearing  of  this  new  calamity,  Hermione's  fortitude 
gave  way,  and  she  fell  fainting  to  the  ground. 

Leontes's  stubborn  spirit  began  to  quail.  He  saw  in 
this  blow  the  wrath  of  heaven  against  his  injustice.  He 
admitted  that  he  had  too  much  believed  his  suspicions  ; 
he  ordered  that  the  Queen  should  be  carried  away,  and 
every  remedy  tenderly  applied  to  restore  her  to  lifs. 

In  his  new  terror  he  hastily  began  to  make  good  resolu- 
tions. He  would  be  reconciled  with  Polixenes  ;  he  would 
woo  the  Queen  again  ;  he  would  recall  Camillo,  whom 
he  forthwith  proclaimed  a  man  of  mercy  and  truth,  for 

430 


The    Oracle    Speaks 

by  his  piety  and  humanity  he  had  saved  the  Hfe  of 
PoUxenes  when  Leontes  would  have  poisoned  him. 

But  these  good  resolves  came  too  late.  Even  as 
Leontes  was  speaking,  Paulina  rushed  back  into  the  court, 
weeping  and  wringing  her  hands.  With  burning  words 
that  went  straight  to  the  truth,  she  hurled  the  bitterest 
reproaches  at  the  King,  denouncing  his  tyranny  and  worse 
than  childish  jealousy,  which  had  led  to  one  evil  after 
another.  He  had  betrayed  Polixenes,  attempted  to 
poison  Camillo's  honour,  cast  forth  to  the  crows  his  baby 
daughter,  had  indirectly  brought  about  the  death  of  the 
young  Prince.  But  last,  beyond  all  these  things — worst 
of  all — the  Queen  was  dead  ! 

"  O,  thou  tyrant  !"  she  cried,  almost  distracted  with 
grief.  "  Do  not  repent  these  things,  for  they  are  heavier 
than  all  thy  woes  can  stir  ;  therefore  betake  thee  to 
nothing  but  despair.  A  thousand  knees,  ten  thousand 
years  together,  naked,  fasting,  upon  a  barren  mountain, 
and  still  winter,  in  storm  perpetual,  could  not  move  the 
gods  to  look  on  thee  with  pity." 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  murmured  the  conscience-stricken 
Leontes.  "  I  have  deserved  all  tongues  to  talk  their 
bitterest." 

Paulina,  seeing  that  Leontes  was  sincere  in  his  repent- 
ance, now  softened,  and  in  her  impulsive  fashion  asked 
pardon  for  her  rash  and  impetuous  words.  But  Leontes 
was  honest  enough  to  own  that  she  had  spoken  nothing 
but  truth,  and  he  would  not  let  her  retract  what  she  had 
said. 

"  Prithee,  bring  me  to  the  dead  bodies  of  my  wife  and 
son,"  he  said.     "  One  grave  shall  be  for  both  ;  on  it  shall 

431 


The    Winter's    Tale 

appear  the  cause  of  their  death,  for  my  perpetual  shame. 
Once  a  day  I'll  visit  the  chapel  where  they  lie,  and  tears 
shed  there  shall  be  my  recreation." 

So  the  unhappy  King  strove  in  vain  by  a  tardy  penance 
to  atone  for  the  wrongs  he  had  done. 


A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream 

Sixteen  years  had  rolled  away  since  the  day  when  the 
shepherd  had  found  the  little  deserted  baby,  and  taken 
it  to  his  own  cottage.  The  old  man  had  prospered  since 
those  days,  and  from  having  almost  nothing  had  risen 
to  large  estates.  The  maiden  who  passed  as  his  daughter 
had  grown  into  such  rare  loveliness  that  the  report  of  her 
beauty  spread  through  all  the  country  of  Bohemia,  and 
even  reached  the  palace  of  the  King. 

Polixenes,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  one  son,  Florizel, 
who  was  the  same  age  as  the  young  Prince  Mamillius  of 
Sicilia,  dead  sixteen  years  before.  Prince  Florizel  at 
this  time  was  about  twenty-one  years  old. 

It  happened  one  day  when  he  was  out  hawking  that 
his  falcon  flew  across  the  land  belonging  to  the  shepherd, 
and  seeing  Perdita,  Florizel  was  so  struck  by  her  charm 
and  beauty  that  he  at  once  fell  in  love  with  her.  From 
that  day  he  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  shepherd's 
house,  so  much  so  that  the  King,  his  father,  noticed  his 
frequent  absence  from  home,  and  taking  counsel  with 
Camillo,  they  decided  to  go  themselves  to  the  shepherd's 
house  in  disguise  to  see  what  could  be  the  attraction 
that  was  always  taking  the  Prince  to  this  homely  dwelling. 

The  day  they  chose  for  their  expedition  was  the  great 

432 


A    Queen    of   Curds    and    Cream 

feast  of  the  sheep-shearing,  when  all  the  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  collected  together  to  make  merry.  Among 
the  company,  in  the  guise  of  a  shepherd,  came  Florizel, 
who  was  only  known  to  the  adopted  father  of  Perdita  as 
Doricles,  and  whom  he  imagined  to  be  nothing  but  a 
humble  swain. 

The  old  shepherd  had  provided  a  goodly  entertainment 
for  his  guests,  and  seeing  that  Perdita  was  inclined  to  be 
too  shy  and  retiring,  he  insisted  on  her  taking  full  direc- 
tion of  everything,  reminding  her  that  she  was  the  hostess 
of  the  meeting,  and  that  she  must  bid  all  these  unknown 
friends  welcome. 

"  Come,  quench  your  blushes,  and  present  yourself 
that  which  you  are,  mistress  of  the  feast,"  he  said. 
"  Come  on,  and  bid  us  welcome  to  your  sheep-shearing ; 
so  your  good  flock  shall  prosper." 

Thus  urged,  Perdita  made  a  brave  effort  to  conquer 
her  girlish  shyness,  and  with  the  prettiest  grace  possible 
she  went  up  to  the  two  strangers  whom  her  father  had 
pointed  out,  and  bade  them  welcome.  These  strangers 
were  Polixenes  and  Camillo.  Calling  to  her  a  shepherdess 
who  was  carrying  a  basket  of  flowers,  Perdita  selected 
some  and  gave  a  little  posy  to  each  of  the  strangers. 

"  Reverend  sirs,  for  you  there's  rosemary  and  rue  ;  these 
keep  seeming  and  savour  all  the  winter  long.  Grace  and 
remembrance  be  to  you  both,  and  welcome  to  our  shearing." 

Polixenes  and  Camillo  were  enchanted  with  the  loveli- 
ness and  modest  grace  of  this  lowly-born  damsel,  who,  in 
spite  of  her  bashfulness,  showed  that  she  could  answer 
with  'v'it  and  intelligence  when  they  began  to  converse 
with  lier.     For  the  King  and  Camillo,  Perdita  had  chosen 

433  EE 


The    Winter's    Tale 

the  flowers  of  middle  summer — hot  lavender,  mint, 
savory,  marjoram,  the  marigold  that  goes  to  bed  with  the 
sun  and  with  him  rises  weeping.  These  are  the  flowers 
of  middle  summer,  and  these  she  thought  suitable  to  give 
to  men  of  middle  age.  But  when  a  bevy  of  fair  young 
shepherdesses  approached,  in  all  the  first  sweet  bloom 
of  early  girlhood,  she  longed  to  have  some  flowers  of  the 
spring  that  would  become  their  time  of  day. 

"  O  Proserpina,  for  the  flowers  now,  that  frighted  thou 
let'st  fall  from  Dis's  waggon  !"  she  cried.  "  Daffodils,  that 
come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take  the  winds  of 
March  with  beauty ;  violets  dim,  but  sweeter  than  the 
lids  of  Juno's  eyes,  or  Cytherea's  breath  ;  pale  primroses, 
that  die  unmarried  ere  they  can  behold  bright  Phoebus 
in  his  strength  ;  bold  oxlips,  and  the  crown  imperial ; 
lilies  of  all  kinds,  the  flower-de-luce  being  one.  O,  these 
I  lack,  to  make  you  garlands  of  !" 

"  This  is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass  that  ever  ran  on 
green-sward  !"  cried  Polixenes  when,  a  few  minutes  later, 
Perdita  led  off  with  Florizel  the  rustic  dance  of  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses.  "  Nothing  she  does  or  seems  but 
smacks  of  something  greater  than  herself,  too  noble  for 
this  place." 

"  Good  sooth,"  agreed  Camillo,  "  she  is  the  Queen  of 
curds  and  cream." 

"  Pray,  good  shepherd,  what  fair  swain  is  this  who 
dances  with  your  daughter  ?"  asked  Polixenes  of  their 
aged  host. 

The  shepherd  replied  that  he  was  called  Doricles,  and 
boasted  that  he  was  well  off  ;  he  had  it  only  on  the  young 
man's  own  report,  but  he  believed  it,  for  helookedljke  truth, 

434 


A    Queen    of   Curds    and    Cream 

"  He  says  he  loves  my  daughter  ;  I  think  so  too.  And, 
to  be  plain,  I  think  there  is  not  half  a  kiss  to  choose 
which  loves  the  other  best." 

"  She  dances  featly,"  said  the  King. 

"  So  she  does  everything,  though  I  report  it  who  should 
be  silent.  If  young  Doricles  do  light  upon  her,  she  shall 
bring  him  that  which  he  dreams  not  of." 

But  in  spite  of  the  King's  admiration  for  Perdita,  he 
had  no  mind  that  the  heir  to  the  throne  of  Bohemia 
should  wed  the  daughter  of  a  lowly  shepherd.  As  the 
feast  went  on  and  became  merrier  and  more  uproarious, 
Florizel  could  no  longer  restrain  his  affection;  and  calling 
the  two  strangers  as  witness,  he  begged  that  the  contract 
of  marriage  between  himself  and  Perdita  should  be  there 
and  then  concluded. 

The  aged  shepherd  was  quite  willing  to  join  their 
hands,  but  Polixenes  bade  the  young  man  pause.  Had 
he  no  father,  he  asked,  and  did  he  know  of  this  ? 

"  He  neither  does  nor  shall,"  replied  Florizel. 

"  Methinks  a  father  is,  at  the  nuptial  of  his  son,  a  guest 
that  best  becomes  the  table,"  said  Polixenes.  Was  the 
father  incapable,  stupid  with  age  or  illness,  crazy,  childish  ? 

"No,"  answered  Florizel  to  all  this  ;  but  he  neverthe- 
less persisted  in  refusing  to  let  him  know  what  was  taking 
place. 

Then  Polixenes  threw  off  his  disguise  and  revealed  him- 
self as  the  King.  All  was  now  consternation.  He  terrified 
the  shepherd  by  saying  he  would  probably  be  hanged  for 
letting  his  daughter  entrap  the  young  Prince ;  he  com- 
manded Florizel  to  part  instantly  from  Perdita,  and  follow 
him  to  the  Court ;  and  he  threatened  the  maiden  with 

435  EE  2 


The    Winter's    Tale 

cruel  death  if  ever  she  dared  henceforth  to  encourage  his 
son  by  the  shghtest  word  or  caress. 

The  old  shepherd  was  in  despair  at  the  King's  dis- 
pleasure, for  it  meant  ruin  to  them  all,  and  perhaps  a 
shameful  death  for  himself.  Perdita  prepared  with  a 
breaking  heart  to  give  up  her  lover.  She  had  often  warned 
him  what  would  come  of  this  ;  she  was  no  fitting  mate 
for  a  Prince.     Her  dream  of  happiness  was  over. 

"  Being  now  awake,  I'll  queen  it  no  inch  further,  but 
milk  my  ewes  and  weep,"  she  murmured  sorrowfully. 

But  Florizel  had  no  intention  of  giving  up  the  bride 
to  whom  he  had  plighted  his  troth.  Not  for  Bohemia, 
nor  for  all  the  pomp  that  the  sun  saw,  or  the  earth  held, 
or  the  sea  hid,  would  he  break  his  oath  to  his  beloved. 

Camillo,  who  had  remained  behind  when  Polixenes 
wrathfuUy  departed,  tried  to  reason  with  the  Prince. 
But  Florizel  was  resolute.  For  some  time,  fearing  a 
possible  event  such  as  had  now  happened,  he  had  had 
a  ship  prepared  for  flight,  which  was  riding  at  anchor 
close  by.  He  bade  Camillo  return  to  Court  and  inform 
Polixenes  that  he  had  put  to  sea  with  Perdita  ;  what 
course  he  meant  to  hold  it  would  be  better  for  Camillo 
not  to  know  or  the  Prince  to  tell. 

A  plan  now  occurred  to  the  good  Camillo  by  which  he 
hoped  to  benefit  every  one  concerned.  He  still  kept  a 
warm  feeling  of  affection  for  his  late  master,  Leontes, 
and  often  during  his  sixteen  years  of  exile  he  had  longed 
to  return  to  Sicilia.  He  now  proposed  to  Florizel  that 
he  should  carry  Perdita  to  the  Court  of  Leontes,  where 
they  would  be  certain  to  receive  the  warmest  welcome 
from  the  repentant  King,  who  would  be  anxious  to  make 

436 


The    Oracle    Fulfilled 

every  possible  amends  to  the  son  for  the  way  in  which  he 
had  treated  the  father.  Camillo,  meanwhile,  would  stay 
with  Polixenes,  and  do  everything  in  his  power  to  soften 
his  resentment  and  reconcile  him  to  his  son's  marriage. 


The  Oracle  Fulfilled 

After  the  departure  of  Florizel  and  Perdita,  the  shep- 
herd's son,  seeing  the  despair  of  the  old  man  because  of 
the  disgrace  he  had  fallen  into,  counselled  him  to  go  and 
tell  the  King  that  Perdita  was  no  daughter  of  his. 

"  There  is  no  other  way  but  to  tell  the  King  she  is  a 
changeling,  and  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood,"  he  declared. 
"  She  being  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood,  your  flesh  and 
blood  has  not  offended  the  King,  and  so  your  flesh  and 
blood  is  not  to  be  punished  by  him.  Show  those  things 
you  found  about  her,  those  secret  things,  all  but  what 
she  has  with  her.  This  being  done,  let  the  law  go  whistle, 
I  warrant  you." 

"  I  will  tell  the  King  all,  every  word,"  said  the  timorous 
old  man.  "  Yea,  and  his  son's  pranks,  too,  who,  I  may 
say,  is  no  honest  man,  neither  to  his  father  nor  to  me, 
to  go  about  to  make  me  the  King's  brother-in-law." 

The  worthy  rustics  at  once  put  their  intention  into 
practice,  and  hearing  that  the  King  had  already  left  the 
palace  in  pursuit  of  his  son,  they  followed  him  to  the  sea- 
side, to  deliver  over  the  things  which  had  been  found 
with  the  deserted  infant. 

Since  the  death  of  Hermione,  Leontes  had  lived  a  life 
of  penance  and  gravity,  devoting  himself  to  the  memory 

437 


The    Winter's    Tale 

of  his  lost  wife  and  son.  Some  of  his  councillors  would 
fain  have  persuaded  the  King  to  marry  again,  but  the 
impetuous  lady,  Paulina,  faithful  to  her  deeply-wronged 
mistress,  declared  that  there  was  no  lady  living  that 
could  be  compared  with  her,  or  was  fit  to  take  her  position 
as  Queen.  Paulina  reminded  Lecntes  also  of  the  words 
of  the  Oracle,  which  had  said  that  there  would  be 
no  heir  to  the  throne  until  that  which  was  lost  was 
found. 

Leontes,  who  was  much  more  tractable  than  of  old,  and 
who  knew^  now  how  to  value  the  unflinching  honesty  of 
this  outspoken  lady,  replied  that  he  would  never  marry 
again  until  Paulina  herself  bade  him  do  so. 

"  That  shall  be  when  your  first  Queen  breathes  again — 
never  till  then,"  said  Paulina.  And  matters  were  in  this 
state  when  Florizel  and  Perdita  reached  Sicilia. 

The  young  pair  received  the  warmest  welcome  from 
Leontes,  but  closely  following  their  arrival  came  a  messen- 
ger from  Polixenes,  begging  Leontes  to  seize  hold  of  the 
Prince,  who,  casting  off  both  his  dignity  and  duty,  had 
fled  from  his  father,  and  from  his  hopes,  with  a  shepherd's 
daughter.  Polixenes  himself  had  arrived  in  Sicilia, 
bringing  with  him  the  old  shepherd,  the  seeming  father 
of  Perdita. 

But  the  momentary  cloud  was  soon  dispelled,  and 
great  and  unexpected  joy  filled  the  whole  country.  The 
things  which  the  aged  shepherd  had  taken  to  Polixenes 
furnished  full  proof  that  the  rescued  little  babe  was  no 
other  than  the  long-lost  daughter  of  Leontes.  The  mantle 
of  Queen  Hermione  ;  her  jewel  on  the  neck  of  it ;  letters  of 
Antigonus  found  with  it,  which  they  knew  to  be  in  his 

438 


The    Oracle    Fulfilled 

handwriting  ;  the  majesty  of  Perdita  herself,  which  so 
closely  resembled  her  mother  ;  the  nobility  of  her  bearing, 
which  nature  showed  was  above  her  breeding,  and  many 
other  evidences,  proclaimed  her  with  all  certainty  to  be 
the  King's  daughter. 

All  was  now  rejoicing.  Bonfires  were  lighted,  and  crowds 
ran  about  the  streets,  gossiping  over  the  news,  and  wonder- 
ing at  all  the  strange  things  that  were  taking  place.  The 
meeting  of  the  two  Kings,  it  was  reported,  was  a  sight  never 
to  be  forgotten — such  a  weeping  for  joy,  casting  up  of  eyes, 
and  holding  up  of  hands.  Leontes,  overcome  with  rap- 
ture at  finding  his  daughter  again,  one  moment  embraced 
her,  the  next  cried,  "  O,  thy  mother,  thy  mother  !"  Then 
he  asked  forgiveness  of  Polixenes  ;  then  embraced  his 
son-in-law  ;  once  more  flung  his  arms  round  his  daughter  ; 
now  thanked  the  old  shepherd,  who  stood  by  like  a 
weather-beaten  relic  of  many  Kings'  reigns. 

So  with  Paulina,  joy  and  sorrow  strove  for  utterance 
at  the  sight  of  the  young  Princess.  One  moment  she 
wept  for  the  loss  of  her  husband,  whom  the  shepherd's 
son  had  seen  killed  by  the  bear,  the  next  she  was  filled 
with  rapture  that  the  oracle  was  fulfihed.  She  lifted  the 
Princess  from  the  ground,  and  so  locked  her  in  an  embrace, 
as  if  she  would  pin  her  to  her  heart  that  she  might  no 
more  be  in  danger  of  losing  her. 

The  Princess  was  told  of  her  mother's  death,  with  the 
manner  how  she  came  by  it,  bravely  confessed  and 
lamented  by  the  King  himself.  Hearing  that  there  was 
a  wonderful  statue  of  the  Queen,  which  had  taken  many 
years  to  make,  and  which  was  just  completed,  and  in  the 
keeping  of  Paulina,  Perdita  was  most  desirous  to  see  it, 

439 


The    Winter's    Tale 

and  thither  the  royal  party  and  all  their  company  of 
lords  and  ladies  now  went. 

On  arriving  at  Paulina's  house,  Leontes  looked  all 
about  for  the  statue,  but  though  Paulina  led  them  through 
a  gallery  rich  with  many  rare  and  beautiful  objects,  they 
did  not  see  there  what  Perdita  had  come  to  look  upon 
— the  statue  of  her  mother.  At  last  they  reached  the 
chapel,  and  Leontes  ventured  to  remind  Paulina  of  the 
object  of  their  visit. 

"  As  she  lived  peerless,"  replied  Paulina,  "  so  her  dead 
likeness,  I  do  well  believe,  excels  whatever  yet  you 
looked  upon,  or  hand  of  man  hath  done  ;  therefore  I 
keep  it  lonely,  apart.  But  here  it  is  ;  prepare  to  see 
the  life  as  vividly  mocked  as  ever  still  sleep  mocked 
death  ;  behold,  and  say  'tis  well !" 

Paulina  drew  back  a  curtain,  and  there,  beautiful  and 
motionless  before  their  eyes,  stood  the  majestic  image 
of  the  dead  Queen. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  mute  and  breathless,  gazing 
in  amazement,  for  surely  artist's  cunning  had  never 
wrought  so  wonderful  a  representation  of  life. 

"  I  like  your  silence,"  said  Paulina ;  "it  the  more 
shows  off  your  wonder.  But  yet,  speak.  First  you,  my 
liege ;  comes  it  not  something  near  ?" 

"  Her  natural  posture  !"  murmured  Leontes.  "  Chide 
me,  dear  stone,  that  I  may  say  indeed  thou  art  Her- 
mione  ;  or,  rather,  thou  art  she  in  thy  not  chiding,  for 
she  was  as  tender  as  infancy  and  grace.  But  yet,  Paulina, 
Hermione  was  not  sf"  much  wrinkled,  nothing  so  aged,  as 
this  seems." 

"  O,  not  by  much,"  said  Polixenes. 

440 


O,  thus  she  stood  .  .  .  when  first  I  wooed  her  !" 


The    Oracle    Fulfilled 

"  So  much  the  more  our  carver's  excellence,"  said 
Paulina,  "which  lets  go  by  some  sixteen  years,  and  makes 
her  as  if  she  lived  now." 

"  As  now  she  might  have  done,"  sighed  Leontes.  "  O, 
thus  she  stood,  even  with  such  life  of  majesty,  warm  life, 
as  now  it  coldly  stands,  when  first  I  wooed  her  !" 

"  Give  me  leave,"  said  Perdita,  "  and  do  not  say  'tis 
superstition  that  I  kneel  and  then  implore  her  blessing. 
Lady,  dear  Queen,  that  ended  when  I  but  began,  give 
me  that  hand  of  yours  to  kiss." 

"  O,  patience  !"  said  Paulina.  "  The  statue  is  but 
newly  fixed ;  the  colour  is  not  dry." 

She  made  a  movement  to  draw  the  curtain,  saying  that 
if  they  looked  much  longer  they  would  presently  think 
the  statue  moved.  But  Leontes  implored  her  to  let 
him  gaze  at  it  longer,  for  the  more  he  did  so,  the  more 
life-like  it  appeared  ;  it  seemed  to  breathe ;  there  was 
light  in  the  eyes  ;  it  recalled  to  him  all  his  love  and  sorrow 
for  the  lost  Hermione. 

"  Let  no  man  mock  me,"  he  said,  "  for  I  will  kiss  it." 

Paulina  begged  him  to  forbear,  and  again  offered  to 
draw  the  curtain,  and  again  he  prevented  her. 

"  Either  forbear,  and  at  once  leave  the  chapel,  or 
prepare  for  further  amazement,"  said  Paulina.  "  If  you 
can  behold  it,  Fll  make  the  statue  move  indeed,  descend, 
and  take  you  by  the  hand.  But  then  you'll  think — 
which  I  protest  against — I  am  assisted  by  wicked  powers." 

"  What  you  can  make  her  do,  I  am  content  to  look  on," 
said  Leontes  ;  "  what  to  speak,  I  am  content  to  hear ;  for 
it  is  as  easy  to  make  her  speak  as  move." 

Then  Paulina  bade  music  sound,  and  as  the  soft  strains 

44^ 


The    Winter's    Tale 

floated  through  the  chapel,  the  statue  of  Hermione  stirred, 
stepped  down  from  its  place,  and  took  Leontes  by  the  hand. 

Yes,  it  was  indeed  Hermione,  living  and  breathing,  as 
she  had  parted  from  her  husband  sixteen  years  ago.  His 
long  sorrow  and  penance  were  over  ;  henceforth  he  would 
live  in  tenderest  affection  with  his  deeply-cherished 
wife. 

The  faithful  Paulina  was  not  left  to  spend  her  latter 
years  in  loneliness.  Antigonus  was  dead,  but  Leontes 
reminded  her  that  as  she  had  found  a  second  wife  for 
him,  so  he  would  find  a  second  husband  for  her. 

"  I'll  not  seek  far,"  he  said,  "  to  find  thee  an  honourable 
husband,  for  I  partly  know  his  mind.  Come,  Camillo,  and 
take  by  the  hand  this  lady,  whose  worth  and  honesty  are 
richly  noted  and  here  proclaimed  by  us,  a  pair  of  Kings." 


444: 


l^he    Comedy    of   Errors 


A  Walk  through  Ephesus 


T  HERE  was  once  a  merchant  of  Syracuse 
'  called  iEgeon,  who  had  two  baby  sons, 
the  one  so  like  the  other  that  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  them  apart.  At  the 
time  these  children  were  born  ^Egeon  was 
~~^  travelling,  for  his  business  often  com- 
pelled him  to  make  long  journeys.  It  happened  that  on 
the  same  day,  and  in  the  self-same  inn,  a  poor  woman  had 
also  twin  sons.  The  parents  being  extremely  poor,  and 
those  being  the  days  of  slavery,  iEgeon  bought  and 
brought  up  these  children  to  attend  on  his  own  sons. 
When  they  were  still  quite  young,  iEgeon  and  his  wife 
eitarted  to  return  home.     On  the  voyage  back  a  dreadful 

445 


The    Comedy    of   Errors 

storm  arose  ;  the  sailors  saved  themselves  in  a  boat,  but 
left  the  merchant,  his  wife,  and  the  children  on  the 
doomed  vessel.  The  wife,  seeing  the  fate  that  threatened 
them,  bound  one  of  her  children  and  one  of  the  twin 
slaves  to  a  small  mast  ;  the  merchant  was  equally  heedful 
of  the  other  two  boys,  and  the  children  being  thus  dis- 
posed of,  the  father  and  mother  also  bound  themselves 
one  to  each  mast. 

Presently  the  storm  abated ;  the  sun  again  shone 
forth,  and  by  his  light  the  merchant  saw  two  ships  in  the 
distance,  making  towards  them,  one  of  which  seemed  to 
be  from  Corinth,  the  other  from  Epidaurus.  But  before 
they  could  reach  them,  their  own  ship  was  driven  violently 
against  a  huge  rock  and  split  in  two.  Parents  and  children 
were  tossed  into  the  sea  ;  the  mother  and  the  two  elder 
boys  were  picked  up  by  the  fishermen  of  Corinth,  and  at 
length  the  merchant  and  the  other  boys  were  rescued  by 
the  other  ship.  The  latter  would  have  pursued  the  fisher- 
men and  reft  them  of  their  prey,  but  that  their  ship  was 
too  slow  of  sail,  so  that  they  had  to  pursue  their  way 
homeward. 

At  eighteen  years  of  age  the  youngest  boy  became 
inquisitive  after  his  brother,  and  begged  his  father  to  let 
him  go  in  quest  of  him,  taking  with  him  his  attendant, 
who  was  in  the  like  plight  as  himself.  iEgeon,  himself 
longing  to  behold  once  more  the  wife  and  son  whom  he 
had  lost,  at  last  gave  a  reluctant  consent.  So  Antipholus 
of  Syracuse  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse  departed  on  their 
voyage  of  discovery ;  but  time  passed,  and  they  did  not 
return.  At  last  JEgeon  determined  to  go  himself  in 
search  of  theni.     Five  years  he  spent  in  furthest  Greece, 

446 


A    Walk    through    Ephesus 

roaming  through  the  bounds  of  Asia,  till  at  last,  coasting 
lomeward,  he  came  to  Ephesus,  hopeless  of  finding  the 
lost  boys,  yet  loath  to  leave  unsought  either  that  or  any 
place  which  harboured  men. 

It  happened  at  that  time,  owing  to  the  enmity  and  dis- 
cord between  the  towns  of  Ephesus  and  Syracuse,  that  it 
had  been  agreed  in  solemn  synod  by  the  citizens  of  both 
to  admit  no  traffic  v/ith  the  adverse  town.  If  any  native 
of  Ephesus  were  seen  at  Syracuse,  or  if  any  native  of 
Syracuse  came  to  the  Bay  of  Ephesus,  he  was  to  die,  and 
his  goods  were  to  be  confiscated  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Duke,  unless  he  could  levy  a  thousand  marks  to  pay  the 
penalty  and  ransom  himself. 

iEgeon,  being  a  native  of  Syracuse,  on  arriving  at 
Ephesus  was  arrested  under  this  law,  and  brought  before 
the  Duke.  His  possessions  not  amounting  to  the  value 
of  even  a  hundred  marks,  he  was  condemned  to  die. 
The  Duke  of  Ephesus,  on  hearing  the  pitiful  tale  which 
^geon  related,  would  gladly,  out  of  compassion,  have 
released  him,  but  it  was  not  possible  to  recall  the  sentence 
of  death  which  had  been  passed,  unless  the  fine  were  paid. 
The  Duke  granted  what  favour  lay  in  his  power,  and  gave 
the  merchant  a  day's  grace,  bidding  him  seek  all  the 
friends  he  had  in  Ephesus,  and  try  to  beg  or  borrow  the 
sum  required  in  order  to  save  his  life. 

Unknown  to  ^Egeon,  it  happened  that  not  only  the  son 
of  whom  he  was  in  search,  but  also  the  other  son  whom 
he  had  lost  years  before,  was  at  that  time  in  Ephesus. 
The  latter  had  been  settled  there  for  many  years,  and 
was  married  to  a  wife  called  Adriana.  Both  sons  of  the 
merchant  were  known  by  the  same  name — "  Antipholus," 

447 


The    Comedy    of   Errors 

and  both  their  slave  attendants  were  called  "  Dromio." 
The  resemblance  which  had  been  so  strong  in  the  infancy 
of  the  two  sets  of  twins  still  continued,  and  after  the 
arrival  in  Ephesus  of  Antipholus  and  Dromio  from  Syra- 
cuse this  resemblance  was  to  lead  to  endless  confusion. 

The  news  that  a  merchant  of  Syracuse  had  been  arrested 
soon  spread  through  the  city.  Antipholus,  who  had  just 
arrived  after  a  long  journey,  was  warned  by  a  friendly 
merchant,  who,  paying  him  a  large  sum  of  money  which 
he  had  in  keeping  for  him,  counselled  Antipholus  not 
to  let  it  be  known  he  came  from  Syracuse.  Antipholus 
despatched  his  servant  Dromio  with  the  money  back 
to  the  inn — the  "Centaur" — where  they  were  lodging, 
saying  he  would  return  there  in  an  hour  to  dinner.  In 
the  meantime  he  intended  to  walk  about  and  view  the 
city,  lamenting  the  while  that  he  had  not  yet  found  the 
lost  mother  and  brother  of  whom  he  was  in  search. 

Much  to  the  surprise  of  Antipholus,  he  presently  saw 
a  man  approaching  whom  he  took  to  be  his  servant 
Dromio.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  his  servant's  twin 
brother,  who,  for  his  part,  mistook  Antipholus  for  his 
own  master. 

"  What  now  ?  How  chances  it  you  are  returned  so 
soon  ?"  demanded  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

"  Returned  so  soon  ?  Rather  approached  too  late," 
retorted  Dromio   of   Ephesus.     "  The   capon  burns,   the 

pig  falls  from  the  spit,  the  clock  hath  struck  twelve " 

And  he  went  on  to  say  that  his  mistress  was  very  angry 
because  the  dinner  was  getting  cold,  and  his  master  had 
not  returned. 

"  Stop,  sir  !"  said  Antipholus,  checking  his  rapid  fiov/ 

448 


A    Walk    through    Ephesus 

of  words.     "  Tell  me  this,  I  pray  :  where  have  you  left 
the  money  I  gave  you  ?" 

"  O — sixpence  that  I  had  on  Wednesday  last  to  pay 
the  saddler  for  my  mistress's  crupper  ?  The  saddler  had 
it,  sir  ;  I  did  not  keep  it." 

"  I  am  not  in  a  sportive  humour  now,"  said  Antipholus 
sternly,  for  he  knew  that  Dromio  was  a  merry  fellow, 
who  loved  a  jest.  "  Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the 
money  ?  We  being  strangers  here,  how  dare  you  trust 
so  great  a  charge  out  of  your  own  custody  ?" 

But  Dromio  persisted  that  Antipholus  had  given  him 
no  money,  and  kept  on  begging  him  to  come  home  to  his 
wife,  who  was  waiting  dinner  for  him  at  the  Phoenix. 
Antipholus,  at  last  quite  losing  his  temper  at  what  he 
imagined  was  his  servant's  impertinence,  fell  on  him  and 
began  to  beat  him,  whereupon  Dromio  took  to  his  heels 
and  disappeared. 

"  Upon  my  life,"  thought  Antipholus,  "  the  villain 
has  been  over-reached  of  all  my  money.  They  say  this 
town  is  full  of  trickery — such  as  simple  jugglers  who 
deceive  the  eye,  sorcerers  and  witches,  disguised  cheaters, 
prating  mountebanks,  and  many  such-like  sinners.  If 
it  prove  so,  I  will  the  sooner  be  gone.  I'll  go  to  the 
Centaur  to  seek  this  slave.  I  greatly  fear  my  money  is 
not  safe." 

Adriana,  meanwhile,  was  greatly  annoyed  with  her 
husband  for  not  returning,  and  it  was  useless  for  her 
sister  Luciana  to  counsel  patience.  When  Dromio  came 
back,  and  instead  of  bringing  his  master  reported  his 
strange  behaviour,  Adriana  became  more  incensed  than 
ever. 

449  FF 


The    Comedy    of   Errors 

"  Go  back  again,  thou  slave,  and  fetch  him  home,"  she 
commanded  angrily. 

"  Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home  ?"  said  poor 
Dromio.  "  For  heaven's  sake,  send  some  other  mes- 
senger." 

"  Hence,  prating  peasant,  fetch  thy  master  home," 
cried  the  irate  lady,  threatening  to  strike  him. 

Dromio  thought  it  discreet  to  obey,  but  he  went  off 
grumbling. 

"  You  spurn  me  hence,  and  he  will  spurn  me  hither  ; 
if  I  continue  in  this  service,  you  must  case  me  in  leather." 

When  the  man  had  gone  Luciana,  rebuked  her  sister 
for  her  impatience,  saying  that  probably  her  husband  was 
kept  by  business.  But  Adriana  would  not  be  soothed. 
She  w^as  full  of  jealous  anger,  declaring  that  she  stayed 
at  home  neglected,  while  her  husband  amused  himself 
abroad  with  merry  companions  ;  he  was  certainly  tired 
of  her,  and  had  found  some  one  he  liked  better. 

"  Self -harming  jealousy  !  Fie,  beat  it  hence  !"  said 
Luciana  ;  but  Adriana  paid  no  heed  to  her  wise  counsels, 
preferring  to  make  herself  unhappy  with  groundless 
jealousy. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  on  reaching  the  Centaur  Inn, 
found  that  his  gold  was  perfectly  safe,  but  he  was  still 
extremely  annoyed  with  Dromio  for  his  ill-timed  jesting, 
and  when  the  slave  appeared,  he  asked  him  what  he  meant 
by  behaving  in  such  a  fashion.  Was  he  mad  that  he  had 
answered  him  so  madly  ? 

Dromio,  of  course,  replied  that  he  had  never  seen  his 
master  since  he  parted  from  him  until  that  moment ; 
and  he  further  asked,  what  did  his  master  mean  by  such 


A    Walk    through    Ephesus 


a  jest  ?  Enraged  by  this  apparent  fresh  impudence  on 
the  part  of  his  slave,  Antipholus  began  to  beat  him 
soundly. 

But  both  master  and  man  were  to  be  still  further 
bewildered,  for  at  this  moment  up  came  two  ladies,  one 
of  whom  addressed 
Antipholus  as  if  he 
were  her  husband,  and 
began  to  reproach  him 
for  his  unkind  be- 
haviour. 

"  Ay,  ay,  Antipholus, 
look  strange  and 
frown!"  she  said. 
"Some  other  lady  has 
your  sweet  expression  ; 
I  am  not  Adriana  nor 
your  wife.  The  time 
was  once  when  you 
would  vow  that  never 
words  were  music  to 
your  ear,  that  never  ob- 
ject was  pleasing  to  your 
eye,  that  never  touch 
was  welcome  to  your 
hand,  that  never  meat 
was  savoury  to  your 
taste,  unless  I  spake,  or  looked,  or  touched,  or  carved 
it  to  you.  How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  O,  how 
comes  it,  that  you  are  thus  estranged  from  yourself  ? 
Ah,  do  not  tear  yourself  away  from  me  !" 

451  FF  2 


How  comes  it  that  you  are  tLui 
estranged .'"' 


The    Comedy    of   Errors 

"  Plead  you  to  me,  fair  dame  ?  I  do  not  know  you," 
answered  the  bewildered  Antipholus.  "  I  have  only  been 
in  Ephesus  two  hours  ;  I  am  as  strange  to  your  town  as 
to  your  talk  ;  I  cannot  understand  one  word  of  what  you 
say." 

"  Fie,  brother,  how  the  world  is  changed  with  you  !" 
said  Luciana.  "  When  were  ycu  wont  to  treat  my  sister 
thus  ?  She  sent  a  message  by  Dromio  to  tell  you  to  come 
home  to  dinner." 

"  By  Dromio  ?"  said  Antipholus. 

"  By  me  ?"  echoed  Dromio,  who,  of  course,  was  not  the 
one  she  had  sent. 

"  By  thee,"  retorted  Adriana  ;  and  she  repeated  the 
answer  her  own  servant  had  brought  back. 

Antipholus  began  to  think  he  must  be  dreaming,  and 
had  been  married  to  Adriana  in  his  sleep  ;  but  when  both 
the  ladies  insisted  on  his  going  back  with  them  to  dinner, 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and  determined  to 
see  what  would  be  the  end  of  this  strange  adventure. 

As  for  Dromio,  he  was  told  to  act  porter  at  the  gate, 
and  to  let  no  one  enter  unless  he  wanted  another  beating. 


Confusion  worse  Confounded 

Dromio  of  Ephesus,  who  for  the  second  time  had  been 
sent  in  search  of  his  master,  at  last  found  him.  Anti- 
pholus of  Ephesus  had  been  detained  at  the  shop  of  a 
goldsmith,  Angelo,  who  was  making  a  chain  for  his  wife. 
The  chain  was  not  3^et  completed,  but  was  promised  for 
a  little  later.  Antipholus  returned  home,  bringing  with 
him  as  guests  the  goldsmith  Angelo  and  a  merchant  called 

452 


Confusion    worse    Confounded 

Balthazar,  but  when  they  reached  the  house  they  were 
refused  admittance.  No  argument  or  entreaty  would  in- 
duce the  porter  or  the  servants  inside  to  open  the  door. 
They  said  their  master  and  Dromio  were  already  at  home, 
and  that  these  must  be  impostors.  Antipholus  at  last 
went  away  in  a  rage,  saying  that  he  would  go  and  dine 
somewhere  else,  where  he  was  treated  with  less  disdain. 

Meanwhile,  inside  the  house,  Luciana  was  not  at  all 
pleased  with  the  way  her  supposed  brother-in-law  was 
behaving  to  his  wife,  and  when  they  found  themselves 
alone,  she  took  him  to  task  about  it.  Antipholus  of 
Syracuse  again  persisted  that  Adriana  was  no  wife  of  his  ; 
in  fact,  he  said,  he  very  much  preferred  Luciana  herself. 
Luciana  did  not  think  it  right  to  listen  to  such  speeches, 
and  went  off  to  fetch  her  sister,  leaving  Antipholus  more 
than  ever  charmed  with  her  gentle  grace,  enchanting 
beauty,  and  wise  discourse. 

While  he  was  musing  over  this,  and  thinking  it  high 
time  that  he  should  leave  Ephesus,  which  seemed  to  him 
inhabited  by  none  but  witches,  Angelo  the  goldsmith  came 
that  way,  bringing  the  chain  which  Antipholus  of  Ephesus 
had  ordered  as  a  present  for  his  wife.  Antipholus  of 
Syracuse,  to  whom  he  handed  it  in  mistake,  of  course 
knew  nothing  about  it,  and  declared  he  had  never  ordered 
it ;  but  Angelo  insisted  on  his  keeping  it,  saying  he  would 
come  back  at  five  o'clock  for  the  money. 

Antipholus  had  already  sent  Dromio  to  find  out  if  there 
were  any  ship  sailing  from  Ephesus,  for  he  did  not  want  to 
stay  a  single  night  in  such  a  queer  place.  He  now  re- 
solved to  go  and  wait  for  Dromio  in  the  market,  so  that 
they  could  get  off  at  the  first  possible  moment. 

453 


The    Comedy    of   Errors 

Angelo  the  goldsmith  was  in  debt  to  another  merchant, 
and  now  the  creditor  began  to  press  for  his  money. 
Angelo  replied  that  the  very  sum  he  owed  was  due  to 
him  from  Antipholus  ;  he  expected  to  receive  the  money 
at  five  o'clock  that  day,  and  if  the  merchant  would  walk 
down  with  him  to  the  house,  he  would  discharge  the  bond. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  however,  saved  them  the  trouble 
by  walking  up  at  that  moment.  Angelo  asked  him  for 
payment  for  the  chain,  which,  of  course,  this  Antipholus 
declared  he  had  never  had.  Angelo  protested  that  he 
had  given  it  him  only  half  an  hour  before.  Antipholus 
indignantly  denied  it. 

The  merchant  creditor  now  lost  patience,  thinking 
Angelo  only  wished  to  escape  by  some  false  excuse,  and 
he  ordered  an  officer  to  arrest  him.  Angelo,  feeling  that 
his  reputation  was  at  stake,  then  ordered  the  officer  to 
arrest  Antipholus  for  not  paying  him  the  money  for  the 
chain.  To  add  to  the  confusion,  at  that  moment  up 
came  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  who,  mistaking  this  wrong 
Antipholus  for  his  own  master,  told  him  that  a  ship 
was  just  ready  to  sail,  he  had  got  all  their  goods  on 
board,  and  the  vessel  only  waited  for  them  and  the 
skipper. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus  thought  this  was  his  own 
Dromio,  and  that  he  must  be  losing  his  senses,  but  he 
had  no  time  to  debate  the  matter  now.  He  bade  him 
hasten  home  to  Adriana  and  get  from  her  a  purse 
of  ducats,  which  would  serve  to  bail  him  from  arrest. 
Dromio  did  as  he  was  told.  He  rushed  to  the  house,  stam- 
mered out  his  confused  story,  got  the  purse  from  Adriana, 
and  was  ^^+urning  with  it,  w^hen  he  happened  to  meet  his 

454 


Confusion    worse    Confounded 

own  master,  Antipholus  of  Syracuse.  To  him  he  handed 
the  purse.  Antipholus  was  quite  unable  to  understand 
this  new  freak,  but  not  caring  to  waste  time  in  explana- 
tions, asked  if  any  ship  were  departing  that  night.  Dromio 
replied  that  an  hour  ago  he  had  brought  him  word  that 
the  bark  Expedition  was  just  ready  to  sail,  when  Anti- 
pholus was  arrested. 

"  Here  is  the  money  you  sent  for  to  deliver  you,"  he 
concluded. 

"  The  fellow  is  distracted,  and  so  am  I,"  said  Anti- 
pholus. "  We  wander  here  in  illusions.  Some  blessed 
power  deliver  us  hence  !" 

Adriana,  with  Luciana,  hastened  to  the  release  of  her 
husband,  but  when  they  found  him  he  said  such  strange 
things — declaring  that  he  had  not  dined  at  home,  and  that 
he  had  been  locked  out  of  his  own  house,  while  she  and 
Luciana  knew  quite  well  that  he  had  dined  with  them — 
that  everyone  thought  he  was  mad,  and  he  was  bound  and 
carried  away  home,  and  put  under  care  of  a  doctor,  his 
man  Dromio  being  also  treated  in  the  same  way. 

Not  long  after  this,  Angelo  and  his  merchant  creditor 
met  Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  who  this  time,  instead  of 
denying  he  had  had  the  chain,  at  once  admitted  it. 
Angelo  reproached  him  with  having  denied  it  before. 
Antipholus  declared  he  had  never  done  so.  The  merchant 
said  they  had  heard  him  with  their  own  ears.  The  end 
of  the  matter  was  that  they  all  got  so  angry  that  they 
drew  their  swords  and  began  to  fight.  Adriana,  coming  up 
at  that  moment,  thought  it  was  her  husband  who  had  got 
free  from  his  bondage,  and  called  to  the  others  not  to  hurt 

455 


The    Comedy    of   Errors 

him,  he  was  mad,  but  to  seize  him  and  take  away  his 
sword. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  seeing  that  he  was  Hkely  to  be 
overpowered,  sHpped  with  Dromio  for  refuge  inside  a 
Priory,  near  which  they  were  standing.  The  Abbess 
refused  to  give  them  up,  as  they  had  taken  sanctuary 
there,  though  Adriana  vehemently  demanded  her  hus- 
band. 

Luciana  advised  her  sister  to  appeal  to  the  Duke,  and 
as  it  happened,  the  Duke  himself  now  approached,  on  his 
way  to  attend  the  execution  of  the  luckless  JEgeon,  who 
up  to  the  present  had  not  been  able  to  obtain  the  money 
for  his  ransom. 

Adriana  told  her  story  to  the  Duke,  who  thereupon 
commanded  that  the  Lady  Abbess  should  be  summoned 
to  his  presence.  At  that  instant  a  servant  came  rushing 
up  in  terror  to  Adriana  saying  that  his  master  and  Dromio 
had  got  loose,  and  had  tied  up  the  doctor,  and  were  beat- 
ing the  servants. 

"  Peace,  fool  !  Your  master  and  his  man  are  here," 
said  Adriana.     "  What  you  report  to  us  is  false." 

But  the  speedy  appearance  of  Antipholus  and  Dromio 
of  Ephesus  showed  that  the  servant  had  spoken  truth. 

"  Unless  the  foar  of  death  makes  me  doat,"  said  iEgeon, 
"  I  see  my  son  Antipholus  and  Dromio." 

There  was  still  some  further  confusion,  for  this  Anti- 
pholus had  no  knowledge  of  his  father.  But  when 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse  came  from  the  Priory,  and  the 
two  sets  of  brothers  stood  face  to  face,  matters  were  soon 
happily  cleared  up.  To  add  to  the  general  joy,  the  good 
Abbess  turned  out  to  be  no  other  than  the  wife  of  ^Egeon. 

456 


Confusion    worse    Confounded 

There  was  no  difficulty  now  about  getting  ransom  for  the 

merchant,  and,  in  fact,  the  Duke  pardoned  his  Hfe  without 

accepting  the  ducats  which  Antipholus  of  Ephesus  offered. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse  coiild  now  pay  his  court  without 


"  I  see  by  you  I  am  a  sweet-faced  youth." 

rebuke  to  the  lady  who  had  so  charmed  his  fancy ;  and 
Adriana,  to  whom  the  Duke  had  spoken  some  plain  words, 
promised  to  be  a  less  shrewish  wife  for  the  future. 

Among  the  gay  company  none  were  merrier  or  more 

459 


The    Comedy    of    Errors 

delighted  than  the  two  Dromios.  They  embraced 
vigorously,  and  gazed  at  each  other  with  admiration. 

"  Methinks  you  are  my  glass,  and  not  my  brother," 
said  Dromio  of  Ephesus.  "  I  see  by  you  I  am  a  sweet- 
faced  youth.  Will  you  walk  in  to  see  their  gossip- 
ing  ?" 

But  each  brother  was  too  modest  to  walk  into  the 
house  first,  so  they  settled  the  difficulty  by  going  in  hand 
in  hand,  not  one  before  the  other. 


^nrif^^ 


!  l.S  GARDNER,    DARTON  AND  CO.,  LTm, 
ATERNOSTER   BUILDINGS,  LONDON,  ENGLAND. 


1^ 

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UNIVERS/TY  OF  CALIFOPKi... ....... 

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